LIBRARY^ 

UN:,  .  sirv  OF 

CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


XX 


"TURK 


"TO  YOUR  TENTS,  O,  ISRAEL! 


"TURK" 


A    NOVEL 

BY 

OPIE    READ 

Author  of 

The   Harkriders,       The  Starbucks,      Old  Ebenezer 

The  Jucklins,    The  Carpetbagger,    The  Colossus 

On  the  Suwanee  River,      Emmett  Bonlore 

A  Tennessee  Judge,    My  Young  Master 

A  Kentucky  Colonel,    Len  Gansett 

The    Wives    of    the    Prophet 

The  Tear  in  the  Cup  and 

Other    Stories,    Etc. 


ILLUSTRATED 


CHICAGO 
LAIRD  &  LEE,  PUBLISHERS 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1904, 

By  WILLIAM  H.  LEE, 

in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at 
Washington,  D.  C. 


ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


Contents 


PACK 

CHAPTER  I.  Turkey  Egg, 7 

"        H.  Nick  calls  on  Nan,      .....       18 

"        III.  The  revenge  of  Mose  and  Tab,  ...       51 

"        IV.  The  smell  of  damp  lime,  ...        .        .      63 

"         V.  Heard  them  talk,        .         .         .        .         .77 

".         VI.  The  robbery,      .         .         .         .         .         .91 

"        VII.         Danced  him  down 109 

Vm.  The  old  rat,        .        .        .        ....     121 

"        IX.  Together  on  a  horse,         .         .        .         .     134 

"         X.  A  knock  at  the  door,          .         .         .              152 

"         XL  They  had  come  for  him,      .         .         .         .     165 

XII.  Held  her  hand,          .        .        .        .  173 

XIII.  A  shelterless  flock,      .        .        ...     181 

"         XIV.  The  gunpowder  plot,           .         .         .         .     194 

"         XV.  Making  the  rounds,     .         .         .         .         .211 

"        XVI.  The  men  with  switches,       ....     227 

"         XVII.  Seeing  the  world,        .         .               •  .         .     239 

"         XVIII.  The  man  in  the  high  rig,     ....     254 

"         XIX.  A  contract,        .  .      .         .         .         .              283 

"        XX.  There  by  the  cheerful  fire,       "    .         .         .     296 

"         XXI.       A  pot  hunter, 305 

"         XXII.  Two  reformers,  ...         .         .              322 

"         XXIII.  A  poor  boy's  wallet,  .         ...         .     333 

"         XXIV.  The  sword  in  the  air,      .  .        .                  .     343 

"         XXV.  Did  not  beg  for  his  life,      .         .         .        .356 

XXVI.  On  the  lake  shore,      .         .         .         .         .     366 

"        XXVII.  Conclusion,        ...                                374 


"TURK" 


CHAPTER   I 

TURKEY  EGG 

HEN  I  told  an  old  bookworm  that 
I  intended  to  write  a  history  of  my 
life,  he  smiled  and  said:  "Well,  you 
are  ignorant  enough  to  make  it  in 
teresting."  Since  then  I  have  found  out  that 
usually  it  is  the  learned  that  go  off  into  the  by 
paths  of  speculation,  whereas  those  not  so  well 
trained  mentally  move  more  directly  toward 
the  object  aimed  at  in  the  beginning.  But  let 
not  ignorance  congratulate  itself,  for  in  aiming 
to  tell  its  tale  once  ignorance  not  unfrequently 
tells  it  twice;  old  Lack-Learning  wabbles  in 
his  gait  and  during  a  day's  journey  walks 
twice  as  far  as  the  athlete.  An  old  actor 
declared  that  it  required  almost  a  lifetime  to 
learn  to  be  natural  on  the  stage;  and  if  this 

7 


8  " TURK " 

be  true,  how  long  must  it  take  a  man  to  be 
natural  with  a  pen!  I  suppose  the  best  way  is 
to  write  as  if  the  product  were  to  be  a  letter, 
to  be  read  only  by  one  person,  a  friend  whose 
nature  you  well  understand. 

I  was  born  in  a  community  of  Kentucky 
wiseacres.  A  wiseacre,  as  I  now  recall  him, 
was  a  man  who  observed  but  who  did  not 
think.  In  a  log  schoolhouse — near  Blood 
Spring,  by  the  way — I  was  taught  to  read;  but 
here  I  did  not  acquire  sufficient  skill  to  master 
completely  the  pamphlet  account  of  the  tra 
gedy  that  gave  the  spring  its  gory  name. 
The  little  volume,  with  cover  as  red  as  the 
sumach's  leaf  in  autumn,  had  been  printed  on 
some  obscure  hand-press,  and  on  one  page 
was  an  advertisement  of  a  grand  Whig  rally 
to  be  held  near  the  spring  and  to  be  presided 
over  by  Henry  Clay.  But  as  to  the  origin  of 
the  name:  One  day  in  the  early  thirties  a 
school-teacher  who  had  come  from  Massa 
chusetts  was  detected  talking  abolition  to  the 
negroes.  Judge  Grifficost,  a  Justice  of  the 
peace  who  could  hew  a  log  smoother  than  any 
other  man  in  the  county  and  who,  when 
pushed,  could  almost  read  and  write,  sent 


TURKEY  EGG  9 

word  to  the  schoolmaster,  whose  name  was 
Mulligan,  that  he  must  hush  that  sort  of  talk 
or  the  grass  might  forsake  its  native  color 
and  turn  red.  Mulligan  sent  back  reply  that 
he  had  framed  a  speech  on  the  subject  of 
abolition  and  would  deliver  it  on  the  follow 
ing  Sunday  at  the  spring  near  the  school- 
house.  Hereupon  the  judge  forwarded 
rejoinder  that  if  Mulligan  attempted  such  an 
outrage  upon  the  freedom  and  the  decency  of 
the  community,  the  spring  would  blush.  A 
crowd  assembled.  The  speech  was  attempted; 
and  then  two  men  stood  waist  deep  in  the 
water,  fighting  with  knives.  Both  were  killed. 
Before  the  sun  went  down  .the  spring  had 
received  an  enduring  name.  Many  a  time  in 
after  life  have  I  heard  a  man  say,  "Oh,  you 
can't  scare  me.  I  learned  to  read  at  'Old 
Blood.'  I'll  tell  you  that."  And  it  was  usu 
ally  sufficient  to  arouse  sudden  respect. 

Yes,  at  Old  Blood  I  learned  to  read,  and 
would  soon  have  been  put  up  into  the  cipher 
ing  class,  but  was  taken  away  and  bound  out 
to  work  on  a  farm.  My  education  was 
dropped  for  a  number  of  years  and  was  taken 
up  in  prison,  where  I  spent  two  profitable 


10  "TURK" 

years,  an  academy  where  there  were  many 
professors;  but  I  am  running  ahead  of  my 
story. 

I  was  born  small,  grew  up  runtish,  and  was 
so  freckled  that  they  called  me  Turkey  Egg. 
This  was  shortened  to  Turkey,  and  finally  to 
Turk.  The  community  into  which  I  was 
taken  after  having  been  torn  from  school  was 
at  least  twenty-five  miles  away,  and  my  only 
consolation  for  the  breaking  of  old  ties  was 
that  my  nickname  might  not  follow  me  so 
far.  But  when,  upon  being  asked,  I  informed 
my  new  associates  that  my  name  was  Lorenzo, 
after  a  famous  divine  who  had  challenged  the 
devil  to  hand-to-hand  encounter,  a  flame- 
headed  scoundrel  spoke  up  and  said:  "Lorenzo! 
Why,  anybody  can  see  your  name  is  Turkey 
Egg."  And  they  shortened  it  to  Turkey  and 
then  to  Turk. 

At  an  earlier  time  a  feud  had  left  a  blazed 
trail  through  a  generation  that  bore  my 
name — Griffin;  my  father,  two  brothers,  three 
uncles,  and,  as  old  Squire  Barton  put  it,  a 
whole  hell's  mint  of  my  cousins  had  mumbled 
their  last  words  with  their  mouths  full  of  dust. 
Tradition,  which  personally  I  could  not  verify, 


TURKEY  EGG  11 

said  that  one  of  the  Nesbitts  was  swinging  me 
by  the  heels  to  dash  out  my  brains  against  the 
corner  of  our  burning  house  when  my  Uncle 
Gabe  "sieved"  him  with  buckshot.  Thus  I 
became  so  endeared  to  the  rough  old  fellow 
that  he  took  my  "raising"  upon  himself,  and 
in  time  sent  me  to  Blood,  his  own  alma  mater, 
where  I  remained  until  my  patron  was  killed 
from  ambush,  presumably  by  one  of  the 
Nesbitts. 

My  only  recollection  of  my  mother  is  from 
a  pencil  sketch,  made  by  some  adventurous 
artist  who  must  have  been  struck  by  her 
appearance.  She  was  killed  by  a  Nesbitt 
who,  in  the  thick  of  the  fight,  mistook  her  for 
a  man;  and  they  say  that  her  slaughterer, 
discovering  the  truth,  humbly  bowed  to  her 
as  she  lay  dying  and  begged  her  pardon. 
Uncle  Gabe  killed  him. 

The  farmer  to  whom  I  was  bound  had  a 
history.  As  a  young  man  he  was  Professor 
Walter  Emory,  in  a  college  not  far  from 
Louisville.  Here  he  became  enamored  of  a 
young  woman  of  the  neighborhood  and  went 
almost  mad  when  another  professor  won  her 
and  took  her  away.  Being  a  man  of  devotion 


12  "TURK" 

to  knowledge  and  believing  in  its  power, 
Emory  knew  little  enough  of  woman  to  swear 
that  his  rival  had  won  by  superior  learning. 
On  a  veranda  amid  vines  he  had  heard  him 
talking  Aristotle  to  her.  He  heard  her 
replies,  mumbled  in  a  sort  of  dumb  ecstasy, 
and  he  cursed  himself  for  not  having  made 
more  of  a  specialty  of  Greek.  But  when  he 
learned  of  his  loss,  he  kicked  his  Greek  books 
out  of  doors,  boxed  the  leather  jaws  of  his 
Horace,  stabbed  his  mathematics  with  sarcasm 
and  betook  himself  to  the  woods.  For  a  time 
he  worked  as  a  raftsman  on  the  Kentucky 
River,  striving  to  be  ignorant;  and  later,  when 
he  had  inherited  a  few  thousand  dollars, 
bought  a  farm  among  the  hills.  To  physical 
labor  he  devoted  himself  as  if  it  were  a  sort  of 
revenge.  In  the  society  of  an  ignorant  girl 
he  found  a  moiety  of  contentment  and  would 
have  married  her,  but  a  tobacco  buyer,  who 
could  but  little  more  than  read  his  own  name, 
took  her  away.  As  a  consolation  to  this  last 
perfidy  he  went  into  the  woods  and  with  axe 
and  grubbing-hoe  cleared  up  a  piece  of  new 
ground.  And  thus  it  was  that  he  hated  both 
learning  and  ignorance,  believing  that  between 


TURKEY  EGG  13 

the  two  there  must  be  an  honest  medium. 
Several  years  passed  and  this  "honest  me 
dium"  was  found  in  the  person  and  well-con 
cealed  mental  graces  of  a  Miss  Louise 
McWirter.  They  were  married  without  any 
great  pretense  of  love,  and  settled  on  the 
farm,  there  to  look  forward  to  whatever  a 
day  might  choose  to  bring  forth. 

I  have  never  discovered  who  it  was  that 
"leased"  me  to  Emory.  It  must  have  been 
the  county,  to  rid  itself  of  my  keep.  The 
bond  papers  were  never  shown  to  me,  and  I 
did  not  ask  to  see  them. 

Emory  did  not  come  after  me.  I  was 
brought  in  an  ox-cart  by  an  old  fellow,  who 
won  my  respect  when  he  showed  me  a  scar 
inflicted  by  a  bear.  We  arrived  late  in  the 
night;  but  I  was  called  early  to  begin  my 
labors,  the  setting  out  of  tobacco  plants,  as 
there  had  been  a  rain  the  night  before  which 
rendered  the  ground  suitable.  The  sun  came 
out  hot,  and  I  thought  that  before  noontime  I 
should  surely  die.  With  me  worked  two 
other  hirelings,  white  men;  for,  as  I  very 
soon  discovered,  Emory,  being  secretly  an 
abolitionist,  would  not  hire  slaves  of  their 


14  "TURK" 

masters.  Our  dinner  was  brought  out  to 
us  by  two  girls  in  red  calico;  one  fair-haired, 
peeping  shyly  through  glints  of  blue,  the 
other  with  a  kink  of  black  hair  and  eyes 
that  twinkled  in  a  brown  and,  I  thought,  devil 
ish  dance.  In  my  ignorance  I  remember  to 
have  mused  that  she  might  be  the  mother  of 
a  feud  coming  out  of  the  far-off  future.  She 
was  the  younger  by  eighteen  months  and  they 
called  her  Nan.  Her  sister's  name  was  Amy. 
And  in  contrast  how  gentle  she  was!  So  soft 
of  voice,  so  like  a  dove  in  first  feathers,  so 
sympathetic  as  she  looked  at  me,  roasting  in 
the  sun  with  the  green  gum  of  the  tobacco 
plants  sticking  to  my  fingers.  But  Nan — she 
laughed,  put  her  basket  on  a  stump,  and 
behind  her  lifted  apron  shook,  peeping  with 
one  eye  and  shaking  again.  How  I  hated 
her!  I  refused  to  accept  food  out  of  her  bas 
ket,  and  I  believe  that  I  should  have  run  away 
had  not  the  gentle  Amy  held  me  with  a  soft 
and  sympathetic  look.  Nan,  the  little  wretch, 
did  not  inquire  my  name.  This  was  a  disap 
pointment,  for  I  fancied  that  with  "Lorenzo" 
uttered  pompously  I  could  quell  her.  Through 
that  part  of  the  country  Lorenzo  Dow  had 


TURKEY  EGG  15 

preached;  to  the  mourners'  bench  he  had 
dragged  bullies,  and  with  his  own  strong 
hands  had  tied  and  whipped  a  wife-beater. 
But  Nan  did  not  care  to  ask  of  me  my  name. 
She  discovered  it  for  herself.  She  called  me 
Turkey  and  nodded  again  behind  her  apron. 
When  we  had  eaten,  and  when  the  girls  had 
gone  back  to  the  house,  I  asked  one  of  my 
companions  to  tell  me  what  sort  of  a  girl  Nan 
was,  and  without  hesitation  he  spoke  up: 

"Just  an  every-day  sort  of  she-devil."  I 
said  nothing,  knowing  that  he  had  told  the 
truth.  He  worked  along  the  row,  setting 
plants  into  the  steaming  soil,  and  after  a  time 
he  added:  "I  ain't  got  nothin'  ag'in  children 
as  a  general  thing;  but  whenever  the  Lord 
sees  fittin'  to  take  her  off,  I  know  of  one  feller 
that  won't  complain.  They  say  Emory  hates 
the  world,  and  I  reckon  she's  the  outcome  of 
it.  I  don't  mind  a  girl  that's  got  mischief  in 
her,  but  Nan  don't  stop  at  that.  She's  mean." 

Upon  going  to  the  house  in  the  evening,  I 
saw  Emory  for  the  first  time.  He  was  gray 
ish,  wore  a  short  beard,  was  hook-nosed, 
wrinkled  of  brow,  and  bent  in  the  shoulders. 
Nan  had  his  eyes;  and  in  them  there  was 


16  "  TURK  " 

always  a  fire,  but  never  the  glow  of  gentle 
ness.  His  wife  was  a  modest,  refined  and 
most  charitable  woman,  more  cultivated  than 
he  was  aware  of,  and  patient  with  him;  and 
that  any  one  must  have  regarded  as  a  great 
virtue.  I  could  not  have  told  whence  it  came, 
but  there  was  a  streak  of  arrogance  in  me. 
So,  when  Emory  looked  at  me  as  I  stood  in 
his  presence,  I  felt  my  resentment  rising  and, 
looking  into  his  eyes,  which  almost  dazzled 
me,  I  said: 

"Sir,  I  learned  to  read  at  Blood." 
Nothing  could  have  more  offended  him. 
The  professor  who  stole  the  girl  he  had  loved 
was  once  a  teacher  at  Blood.  In  college  he 
had  boasted  of  it,  had  said  that  a  Blood 
Spring  man  was  never  known  to  quail,  so  in 
my  attempt  to  stand  high  upon  my  pride  I 
had  fallen  low.  He  looked  about  him,  into 
the  corner,  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  hunt 
ing  for  a  stick,  and  finding  none,  gazed  at  me 
and  said:  "I  ought  to  knock  you  down,  you 
impudent  scoundrel." 

"Walter,  dear,"  his  wife  spoke  up,  "don't  be 
angry  with  the  poor  child.  How  does  he 
know  of " 


,     TURKEY  EGG  17 

"He  knows  enough  to  boast,  and  that  is 
sufficient.  He  ought  to  be  cracked  on  the 
head." 

I  heard  Nan  titter — caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
eye,  and  then  I  said:  "Sir,  when  a  Griffin  is 
cracked  on  the  head,  pistols  bark  on  the  hill 
side  like  foxes." 

"Why,"  he  exclaimed,  almost  smiling  upon 
me,  "the  little  freckled-face  beast  has  spirit 
in  him.  Come  in  to  supper." 


CHAPTER   II 

NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN 

HE  NEXT  day  was  Sunday.  The 
family  was  preparing  to  go  to 
church,  a  log  meeting-house  where 
a  gaunt  expounder  of  a  fiery  faith 
sent  infant  souls  to  hell.  To  be  overlooked  is 
sometimes  a  kindness.  I  was  not  asked  to 
go;  so,  stealing  forth  with  a  book,  I  sat 
beneath  a  tree  in  the  yard  and  was  laboriously 
exercising  the  accomplishment  acquired  at 
Blood  when  Nan  spied  me.  Quickly  she  ran 
into  the  house.  Emory  came  out,  clearing 
his  rough  and  rasping  throat. 

"What  are  you  doing  there?"  he  shouted 
while  yet  he  was  some  distance  from  me. 
With  a  bow  of  respect,  I  answered  that  I  was 
reading. 

"Don't  give  me  any  of  your  freckled  nods," 
he  stormed.  I  arose,  and  now  he  stood  near 
me.  "What  are  you  doing?" 

"Reading,  sir,"  I  answered,  trying  to  look 
martyr  to  learning 

18 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  19 

"Reading!  Did  I  hire  you  for  that?  Why 
did  I  hire  you?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,  unless  it  happened  that 
you  couldn't  hire  any  one  else." 

His  wife  appeared  in  the  door.  "Walter, 
we  are  ready,"  she  called.  "And  let  the  poor 
little  fellow  go  with  us  if  he  wants  to." 

He  turned  about  and  looked  at  her.  "Be 
there  in  a  moment,"  he  said,  and  then  he  gave 
attention  to  me.  "I  didn't  hire  you  to  read,  I 
can  tell  you  that.  Don't  you  know  that  nearly 
every  man  who  reads  is  a  villain?  Don't 
you?" 

"I  haven't  read  enough  to  find  that  out." 

"Well,  I  can  tell  it  to  you,  and  now  that  you 
have  found  out,  you  needn't  read  any  further. 
Give  me  that  book." 

I  handed  it  to  him.  He  glanced  at  the  title, 
threw  the  volume  over  into  the  hog-pen,  and 
turning  toward  the  house  roared  as  he  went: 
"Children  of  the  Abbey!  Who  the  devil 
brought  that  thing  into  this  house?"  Sud 
denly  Amy's  face,  pale  and  in  fright,  appeared 
at  the  window.  It  was  a  sight  so  sad  that  I 
looked  away,  and  when  he  began  to  scold  her, 
I  stopped  my  ears.  Afraid  that  he  might 


20  "  TURK  " 

• 

extend  to  me  the  revengeful  courtesy  of  an 
invitation  to  hear  his  sort  of  gospel,  I  leaped 
over  the  fence  and  slunk  off  down  into  the 
woods;  and  now  I  was  at  home,  for  my  people 
all  were  woodsmen,  serving  God  best  when 
they  were  alone.  It  was  said  of  my  old  Uncle 
Simon  that  once  when  he  had  come  up  out  of 
the  wilderness  to  attend  communion,  he  seized 
the  wine  cup  as  it  passed,  threw  the  wine  into 
the  face  of  the  minister  and  cracked  him  over 
the  head,  thus  showing  to  his  followers  that  it 
was  not  well  to  dispute  with  him  upon  the 
minor  points  of  the  Last  Supper.  It  was  a 
matter  for  shame,  but  secretly  I  admired 
those  boisterous  traits,  and  more,  perhaps, 
now  that  I  was  a  slave.  The  runt  is  likely  to 
hold  in  his  breast  the  venom  of  a  whole  gener 
ation;  the  hunchback  with  his  wit  is  nearly 
always  a  satirist;  but,  praise  the  Lord,  though 
under  size,  I  was  of  fair  shape  and  of  bound 
ing  energy  except  when  set  to  a  work  that  I 
despised.  Much  is  it  to  my  discredit;  but  on 
this  day,  scorched  with  a  master's  indignity,  I 
believe  that,  had  a  highwayman  come  along 
and  offered  me  a  horse  and  a  pistol,  I  should 
have  gone  with  him  to  rob  the  rich.  One 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  21 

night  I  had  dreamed  that  a  miser's  blood  was 
yellow,  and  for  a  time  I  felt  that  I  was 
tempted  to  find  one  and  stab  him  to  learn  if  it 
were  true. 

Beneath  a  beech  tree  where  the  ground  was 
soft  with  moss,  I  lay  down  listening  to  the 
stirring  air  that  wooed  me  toward  sleep. 
Then  forth  from  thickets  came  the  shy 
bird  that  sings  only  for  himself,  riotous  in  his 
seclusion,  not  knowing  that  my  thievish  ears 
drank  up  his  music.  A  summer's  cloud  came 
over,  seen  through  half-shut  eyes,  and  down 
came  a  gentle  shower,  pattering  on  the  thatch 
of  leaves.  Up  arose  the  sweetened  mingling 
of  a  hundred  scents,  elusive  perfumes  never 
yet  by  man  extracted  from  their  native  bloom. 
The  cloud  passed  away,  followed  by  the  misty 
air;  the  sun  blazed  out  again,  and  in  the 
creek,  blue  and  noiseless  near  where  I  lay,  I 
heard  the  splash  of  the  eager  bass,  leaping  to 
catch  the  fly;  or  was  he,  full  of  man-like 
vanities,  striking  at  the  passing  cloud?  Then 
all  fell  into  delicious  nothingness,  into  a 
dreamless,  miniature  eternity.  Had  it  not 
been  better,  I  have  often  wondered,  to  have 
slept  on  in  that  mossy  bed?  Ah,  but  not  until 


22  '"  TURK  " 

we  awake  do  we  know  that  sleep  has  been 
delicious. 

I  was  aroused  by  Emory's  harsh  voice.  "If 
you  want  anything  to  eat,  come  on  to  the 
house,"  he  shouted,  standing  not  far  away. 
I  would  have  requested  him  to  let  me  sleep, 
for  therein  the  bound  boy  is  as  free  as  the 
maker  of  the  law,  but  he  yelled  at  me:  "Get 
up,  you  lazy  thing,  and  feed  the  horses." 

He  turned  away,  and  I  scrambled  to  my 
feet,  dreading  Nan's  dancing  eye  and  wonder 
ing  if  Amy's  face  were  still  pale  and  fright 
ened.  But  in  the  dining-room  all  seemed  to 
be  in  good  humor.  Emory  and  his  wife  were 
discussing  the  sermon,  and  in  his  voice  there 
was  now  and  then  a  tenderness  when  he  called 
her  Louise.  The  girls  were  busy  with  frock 
talk  and  ribbon  comment,  and  thus  I  was 
left  to  myself.  The  other  hired  hands  had 
gone  "galling,"  as  they  termed  it,  granting 
to  me  more  freedom,  but  also  more  work. 

How  typical  of  the  community  was  the 
meal — corn  light  bread,  a  cold  boiled  ham, 
snap-beans  boiled  with  a  piece  of  bacon,  and 
buttermilk  poured  from  a  yellow,  earthen 
pitcher. 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  23 

"Did  you  know  that  while  you  were  asleep 
the  hogs  got  into  the  potato  patch?"  Emory 
asked,  fixing  his  schoolmaster  eye  on  me. 
Nan  began  to  titter,  but  Amy  looked  sympa 
thetic.  Mrs.  Emory  sought  to  lead  him  back 
to  the  sermon,  proving  to  me  that  she  was  my 
friend;  but  he  waved  his  hand  as  if  he  would 
brush  away  her  voice.  "Did  you  know  it?"  he 
repeated.  And  by  impudent  courage  I  was 
moved  to  answer:  "While  I  was  asleep  I  didn't 
know  anything." 

He  looked  as  if  he  would  swallow  me  with 
his  eyes.  "And  did  you  know  anything  after 
you  awoke?"  To  Nan  this  was  a  bright  wit 
ticism,  and  she  laughed  at  me,  the  little  beast. 

"Not  very  much,  sir." 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "how  ignorance  is  sometimes 
inspired  with  a  truth!  Have  you  any  idea 
what  I'll  do  with  you  if  you  don't  attend  to 
your  duties  better?  Have  you?" 

In  my  ears  there  arose  a  sound  like  the 
singing  of  a  tea  kettle.  My  blood  was  begin 
ning  to  boil.  I  looked  at  him — and  I  meant 
what  I  said — looked  at  him  and  replied:  "You 
may  not  have  to  do  anything  with  me.  When 
the  time  comes  I  will  kill  myself." 


24  "  TURK  " 

"Oh,  Walter,  Walter,"  cried  the  gentle 
woman,  "don't  you  see  how  you  torture  the 
poor  thing?  Please  don't.  There,  Turk, 
don't— don't." 

She  thought  I  was  crying.  God  knows  my 
heart  was  far  from  weeping.  The  devil  was 
in  my  soul,  a  sharp  case-knife  within  my 
grasp,  and  I  was  hungry  to  cut  my  tormentor's 
throat;  but  I  looked  at  Amy.  My  hand 
spread  out  upon  the  table.  The  knife  seemed 
to  flee  from  me.  "Learned  to  read  at  Blood," 
he  said,  and  was  going  to  continue  his  torture 
when  his  wife  spoke  up:  "Walter,  he  can  be 
of  a  great  deal  of  service  to  us.  Let  us  treat 
him  kindly." 

"Treat  him  kindly!  Isn't  that  what  I  am 
doing?  I'm  talking  to  him  for  his  own  good, 
and  not  mine,  I  assure  you.  Kindly!  Don't 
we  let  him  eat  at  the  table  with  us?  Is  there 
another  family  about  here,  in  this  the  State  of 
Kentucky,  that  would  seat  hirelings  with  the 
family?  Treat  him  kindly,  indeed!" 

I  slept  in  an  attic  at  the  top  of  one  of  the 
wings  of  the  spreading  log  house,  in  a  room 
all  to  myself,  and  for  this  I  was  humbly  thank 
ful.  The  furniture  consisted  of  a  tick  stuffed 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  25 

with  straw,  a  bedstead  made  of  oak  saplings,  a 
chair  with  a  wooden  bottom  and  a  lame  back, 
a  barrel  of  carpet-rags,  and  my  own  box 
painted  red,  perhaps  in  unconscious  com 
memoration  of  the  fact  that  I  had  learned  to 
read  at  Blood.  That  evening  when  I  went 
upstairs,  there  on  my  box  was  something  to 
warm  my  heart  to  gratitude:  a  book,  a  simpli 
fied  volume  of  English  history;  yes,  and  beside 
it  lay  a  candle.  Amy's  sweet  face  arose  before 
me  and  in  my  heart  I  blessed  her.  But  soon  I 
discovered  that  slyly  must  I  indulge  this  new 
luxury.  Emory  was  possessed  of  the  habit  of 
walking  up  and  down  in  the  yard  until  all  the 
rest  were  in  bed,  and  a  light  in  my  room,  I 
knew,  would  bring  his  rebuking  clatter  upon 
the  stairs.  The  moon  was  shining,  and  at  a 
gable-end  hole — my  window — I  watched  him, 
sometimes  counting  his  footsteps,  gazing  at 
him  as  he  stood  by  the  fence,  wondering 
if  in  his  nature  there  were  ever  to  be  found  a 
soft  side.  Finally  he  went  into  the  house.  I 
heard  him  kick  off  his  shoes  upon  the  bare 
floor,  and  then  I  lighted  my  candle.  On  the 
fly-leaf  of  my  book  was  written  in  print  letters 
the  words:  "When  you  have  finished  this  book 


26  "TURK" 

make  a  cross  mark  on  the  smokehouse  door 
and  I  will  bring  you  another  one.  Don't  say 
a  word  and  don't  thank  me,  'cause  if  you  do 
you  won't  get  any  more  books."  Little  angel! 
For  a  time  I  could  not  see  the  printed  page, 
except  in  a  fog;  and  then  I  could  not  read  for 
thinking  of  her.  But  thirst  to  know  some 
thing  put  an  end  to  my  musing  and  I  bent 
myself  to  the  book,  a  sweet  and  to  me  a 
revengeful  task;  for,  pitying  me,  my  old  school 
master  had  said:  "There  is  but  one  man  better 
and  stronger  than  another — the  man  that 
knows  the  most."  I  have  lived  to  learn  that 
in  the  opinion  of  the  world  this  is  not  true; 
though  to  the  bookish  poor  it  may  always 
serve  as  a  consolation.  The  university  presi 
dent  delivers  a  lecture  upon  the  subject  of  suc 
cess  in  life,  the  end  of  which  is  to  acquire  the 
bodily  comforts  of  life.  But  if  he  believed 
that  learning  were  success,  instead  of  pointing 
to  men  who  have  made  themselves  "great"  in 
material  things,  he  would  point  to  the  library. 
In  this,  the  summer  time,  my  work  on  the 
farm  was  desperately  hard;  but  the  knowledge 
that  in  Amy  and  her  gentle  mother  there  was 
sympathy  for  me  gave  me  spirit,  and  spirit  can 


"FOR  A  TIME  I  COULD  NOT  SEE  THE  PRINTED  PAGE" 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  27 

stand  more  taxation  than  bodily  strength.  In 
those  days  we  had  no  cultivators  sweeping 
two  rows  of  corn  at  once.  Down  between  the 
rows  we  went  with  a  single  plow,  two  rounds, 
four  furrows;  and  when  the  corn  grew  high 
enough  to  exclude  the  free  circulation  of  the 
air,  the  field  was  as  hot  as  an  oven.  On  the 
morning  after  the  gracious  donation  of  book 
and  candle,  I  was  plowing  in  a  creek-bottom 
field,  when,  turning  around  at  me  fence,  some 
one  called  to  me.  I  looked  up,  and  out  of  the 
high  corn  in  an  adjoining  field  came  slouching 
a  tall,  "one-gallused,"  pale  chopped,  long- 
necked  young  fellow.  He  came  up  to  the 
fence,  put  his  chin  on  the  top  rail,  looked  at 
me,  ejected  a  yellow  spray  of  tobacco  through 
his  teeth,  and  said: 

"You  are  workin'  for  them  folks  up  yander, 
I  reckon."  I  told  him  yes;  and  lie  looked 
harder  at  me  and  spat  again.  "You  are  the 
feller  they  call  Turk." 

"Yes,  they  call  me  that,  but  my  name  is 
Lorenzo." 

"Lo-Lo-Lo-whatzo?"  he  shouted,  and  to 
prevent  his  falling  with  laughter,  he  clung  to 
the  fence.  "Whoop!"  he  cried,  getting  a  bet- 


28  "TURK" 

ter  grip  of  the  fence,  "here  is  Lorenzo."  I 
began  to  feel  about  for  a  rail  light  enough  to 
wield,  found  one,  and  should  have  cracked  him 
on  the  head  with  it  had  he  not  changed  his 
insulting  tune. 

"Hold  on,"  he  cried,  "I'm  Nick  Bowles,  your 
friend.  I  was  just  glad  to  see  you,  that's  all. 
Don't  you  want  a  feller  to  be  glad  to  see  you? 
You  are  hired  out,  and  so  am  I,  and  we  don't 
want  to  fight.  But  say  now,  Turk,  don't  come 
tellin'  me  your  names — hold  on,  I  won't  do  it 
again."  He  stood  back  from  the  fence,  grin 
ning  at  me.  I  put  down  my  rail,  and  he  came 
forward  again.  "How  old  are  you?"  he 
inquired  with  so  much  of  honesty  in  his  voice 
that  I  told  him. 

"Goin'  on  seventeen,  eh?  Did  you  ever 
steal  a  horse?  Hold  on,  now.  You  wouldn't 
hit  a  feller  for  a  little  thing  like  that,  would 
you?"  He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  would  charm 
me  over  and  then  said:  "I  stole  a  horse  not  a 
great  while  ago.  It  was  on  a  Sunday  and  I 
was  goin'  on  to  meetin'  over  at  Old  Blood " 

"At  Old  Blood!"  I  cried,  now  interested. 
"Why,  I  learned  to  read  there." 

"You  did?    Then  I  bet  you  would 'a'  hit  me 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  29 

with  that  rail.  But  let  me  tell  you:  I  was 
goin'  on  to  meetin',  and  the  fellers  with  their 
gals  come  a  ridin'  by,  a  splashin'  the  mud  at 
me,  an'  I  says  to  myse'f,  I  says,  'Nick,  ever'- 
body  but  you  is  a  ridin'.  Whar's  yo'  hoss?' 
Then  I  says  to  myse'f,  1  does,  'Ain't  got  none.' 
Then  somethin'  else  says,  says  it,  'Why  don't 
you  git  you  one?  They  are  plentiful  enough.' 
'That  so?'  says  I,  and  then  I  begin  to  look 
around,  and  when  a  feller's  lookin'  round  for 
somethin'  to  steal,  it  ain't  never  long  till  he 
finds  it.  Well,  I  come  along  by  a  stable  and 
hearn  a  hoss  stompin'  inside,  and  I  says, 'Nick, 
that  stomps  like  a  fair  artickel  of  a  hoss,'  and 
that  somethin'  that  was  a  urgin'  me  on  says, 
'Best  in  the  land  and  a  feller  that  has  done 
without  a  hoss  as  long  as  you  have  don't  want 
none  but  the  best.'  I  opened  the  stable  door 
and  looked  in,  and  the  hoss  he  sorter  wunk  at 
me  with  one  eye  and  says,  says  he,  'E-he-he- 
he,'  as  if  his  friend  had  come  to  see  him.  And 
he  had,  too,  1  tell  you.  And,  sir,  thar  hung  a 
saddle  and  bridle  right  handy,  and  I  bridled 
him  and  saddled  him  and  led  him  out,  and  he 
capered  in  the  sunshine.  I  got  on  him  and  it 
'peared  like  his  feet  didn't  tetch  the  ground, 


30  "  TURK  " 

he  was  so  anxious  to  travel.  I  had  'lowed  I'd 
go  to  church,  but  then  I  thought  it  wouldn't 
look  well  goin'  to  church  jest  after  stealin'  a 
hoss,  so  I  struck  out  across  the  country.  I 
didn't  have  no  money,  but  a  feller  with  a  good 
hoss  can  always  live,  like  a  fightin'  cock  in 
Kaintucky;  so  I  was  all  right.  Wa'n't  old 
enough  to  git  married,  but  I  was  big  shakes 
among  the  gals.  But  one  night  while  I  was  a 
settin'  up  to  a  woman  that  would  weigh  about 
two  hundred  and  fifty  and  old  enough  for  my 
mother,  a  deputy  sheriff  he  j'ined  the  com 
pany  and  cut  me  out." 

"What  did  they  do  with  you"  I  asked  as  I 
swung  my  plow  around. 

"With  me?  Oh,  they  lawed  over  me  a 
while,  and  one  old  lawyer  got  up  and  made 
the  jury  cry  and  they  turned  me  loose.  And 
I  reckon  now  I'll  walk  for  a  while.  Hold  on  a 
minit.  Air  them  gals  up  at  yo'  house  big 
enough  for  a  feller  to  go  to  see?  If  they  air, 
I'll  drap  over.  I'm  a  lady's  man,  me." 

I  told  him  that  so  far  as  I  knew  both  were 
big  enough,  but  that  Nan  was  likely  to  be  his 
choice.  "Come  over  next  Sunday  and  call  for 
her." 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  31 

"Nan.  Reckon  I  can  ricollect  her  name. 
Don't  know  the  old  man.  Reckon  he'd  shy 
at  it?" 

"Why,  it  would  tickle  him  mighty  nigh  to 
death." 

"All  right,  I'll  be  there.  Say,"  he  called  as 
I  started  off  down  a  corn  row,  "don't  say 
nothin'  about  the  hoss.  Some  folks  is  mighty 
easy  prejudiced,  you  know." 

I  was  about  finishing  that  field,  went  over 
into  another,  and  did  not  during  that  after 
noon  nor  indeed  for  several  days  see  Mr. 
Bowles;  but  the  projected  picture  of  his 
appearance  at  the  house  to  call  on  Nan,  the 
stinging  nettle,  was,  in  the  dazzling  heat  of 
the  sun,  a  constant  amusement  and  a  lightener 
of  my  toil. 

My  companions  "in  hire"  were  as  stupid  a 
pair  as  ever  cried  "gee"  to  an  ox.  One  was 
Mose  and  the  other  Tab.  Their  other  names 
counted  for  nothing.  Mose  was  characterized 
by  saying,  "Wall,  yes,"  and  Tab  by  "Wall, 
no."  They  slept  in  the  barn,  and,  I  believed, 
shaved  once  a  week  with  the  point  of  a  scythe. 
I  felt  that  they  were  not  my  friends.  It  may 
be  true  that  misery  loves  company,  but  misery 


32  "TURK" 

to  misery  often  proves  a  traitor;  and  I  had 
cause  to  believe  that  Mose  and  Tab,  seeing 
that  I  was  none  too  well  thought  of  by  the 
master,  sought  to  advance  their  own  interests 
by  dispraising  me.  Amy  dropped  a  hint  that 
they  had  reported  me  lazy  when  alone  in  the 
field.  It  may  have  been  true  that  forgetfully 
I  sometimes  halted  to  muse,  to  build  a  filmy 
castle  and  with  gauzy  fancies  to  people  it;  but 
my  work  showed  for  itself.  Why  is  it  that  the 
underling  should  be  the  underling's  enemy? 
I  spoke  thus  to  Mose,  but  he  pretended  not  to 
understand  me.  He  ordered  me  out  of  his 
chamber,  the  barn,  came  at  me  with  an  iron- 
bound  hame,  and  I  would  have  stabbed  him 
with  a  pitchfork  but  that  his  partner  seized 
me  from  behind.  I  don't  know  what  the  out 
come  would  have  been,  but  just  at  that 
moment  Emory  came  upon  the  scene. 

"What,  scuffling  here  for  amusement  when 
you  should  be  at  work?"  he  cried,  mistaking 
our  purpose.  "Turk,  go  to  the  house  and 
split  wood  to  heat  the  oven.  They  are  going 
to  bake  bread." 

Our  master  indulged  the  foreign  custom  of 
baking  bread  in  an  oven  out  of  doors,  a  sort 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  33 

of  light  bread  that  I  had  never  seen  before; 
our  native  product  being  of  what  they  called 
the  salt-rising  quality.  And  I  was  willing 
enough  to  work  about  the  house,  for  then  I 
caught  glimpses  of  Amy's  sympathy.  I  believe 
that  originally  it  was  Emory's  intention,  in 
keeping  with  his  ancient  revenge,  to  let  his 
daughters  grow  up  in  ignorance  of  all  literary 
graces,  granting  to  them  only  common  read 
ing  and  blunt  arithmetic;  but  while  they  had 
not  gone  to  school,  he  permitted  his  wife  to 
teach  them.  And  she  was  indeed  a  rare  gov 
erness,  for  slyly  she  added  many  a  mind-grac 
ing  conceit  not  thought  out  by  her  husband — 
traitor  to  learning.  That  morning  I  had  made 
a  cross  on  the  smokehouse  door,  and  up  to  my 
room  I  stole  to  note  the  change  in  my  circu 
lating  library.  Ah,  and  on  my  box  there  was 
another  book  and  a  new  candle.  Amy  came 
out  to  show  me  something  about  the  oven, 
and  with  gratitude  in  my  heart  I  began  to 
thank  her.  How  awkward  I  was!  "You  are," 
said  I,  "the  most  beautiful  girl " 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  say  that,"  she  broke  in, 
her  astonished  eyes  opening  wide. 

"But  you  are." 


34  "  TURK  " 

"No,  I  am  not.  You  are  too — too  young  to 
talk  that  way,"  she  said  and  blushed  as  if  she 
had  surprised  herself.  "I  don't  mean  that 
anybody  is  old  enough  to  say  such  things,"  she 
corrected  herself.  "See,  you  have  to  reach 
away  in  and  rake  out  the  ashes." 

"Yes,  I  see.  But  who  would  be  so  kind  to 
me  as  you  are?" 

"Rake  out  the  ashes.  If  father  sees  you 
standing  here  he  might  scold — me" 

That  set  me  to  work. 

Amy  went  into  the  house  and  pretty  soon 
Nan  came  forth,  giggling  at  me.  "You  don't 
know  how  to  do  anything,"  she  said.  "What 
makes  you  so  lazy  ?  " 

"I  am  not  lazy,  Miss." 

She  made  a  mouth  at  me,  stooped  to  spread 
her  short  skirt  upon  the  ground,  mocked  me 
with  a  satirizing  curtsy,  and  jumping  up  flew 
into  wild  antics  with  a  laugh. 

"Do  you  belong  to  us?"  she  asked  with 
devilish  innocence,  and  then  with  mouth  open 
whetted  her  cutting  tongue  against  her  teeth. 
So  angered  was  I  that  I  couldn't  speak. 
'  'Cause  if  you  do,  I'm  going  to  sell  you,"  she 
went  on;  and  then,  turning  from  me,  she 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  35 

hummed  a  tune.  Mrs.  Emory  came  to  the 
door  and  called  her.  "Nan,  come  on  to  your 
books.  Amy  is  getting  ahead  of  you  again, 
and  you'll  have  to  study  at  night  to  catch 
up." 

"I  don't  care,  mother.  I  don't  want  to  know 
anything  anyway  Nobody  but  dull  people 
know  anything." 

"Come  on  in.     You  are  bothering  Turk." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  anything  of  the  sort,  am  I, 
Turk?  I  have  just  been  telling  him  how  well 
he's  fixing  the  oven,  haven't  I,  Turk?  Let  me 
stay  here,  please.  Turk  wants  me,  don't  you, 
Turk?" 

She  gave  me  an  appealing  look  and  a  merry 
twinkle  of  her  eye,  and  making  swift  motions 
with  her  little  brown  hands  coaxed  me  into 
lying.  "She  is  helping  me,"  I  spoke  up, 
expecting  the  reward  of  a  pleasant  word;  but 
when  her  mother  had  withdrawn  into  the 
house,  the  vixen  said:  "How  easy  it  is  for  you 
to  tell  a  fib,  Turk!  I'll  never  believe  anything 
you  tell  me.  Yonder  comes  father." 

Emory  came  up  while  I  was  stooping  to 
blow  the  fire.  "You  are  as  slow  as  winter 
sap,"  he  said;  and  I  know  that  Nan  did  not 


36  "TURK" 

understand  his  meaning,  but  it  was  directed 
against  me,  and  that  was  meaning  enough  to 
make  her  laugh.  And  then  I  began  to  laugh — 
laugh  so  that  I  spluttered  upon  the  feeble 
flame  and  put  it  out.  I  was  thinking  of  the 
coming  visit  of  Nick  Bowles. 

It  seemed  that  between  Saturday  and  Satur 
day  was  stretched  a  creeping  age,  but  Sunday 
came  again.  It  was  ordered  that  I  should  go 
to  church  with  the  family,  and  I  was  afraid 
that  Nick  might*  be  late  with  his  call;  but  just 
as  we  were  ready  to  get  into  the  barouche  he 
came  up  to  the  gate.  I  could  have  blessed 
him  for  not  greeting  me  as  an  acquaintance, 
thereby  making  me  a  party  to  his  impudence; 
indeed,  I  would  willingly  have  gone  down  on 
my  knees  and  tied  his  raw-hide  shoe  strings. 
Was  it  consideration  or  forgetfulness?  No 
matter;  it  served.  So,  paying  no  attention  to 
me,  he  looked  about  him  and  bawled  out, 
"Whar's  Nan?" 

I  did  not  see  the  others — my  attention  was 
fixed  on  Emory.  He  turned  from  a  buckle 
that  he  was  fastening  and,  with  the  red  from 
the  strain  upon  his  face,  confronted  the  visitor. 
"What  did  you  say,  sir?" 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  37 

"Which  gal  is  Nan?  I'm  Nick  Bowles,  and 
I've  come  to  see  her." 

Emory  was  now  desperately  cool.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  suddenly  I  could  see  the 
perspiration  congeal  upon  him.  "Turk,"  he 
said,  "look  in  the  wagon  body  and  hand  me 
that  strap." 

"It's  not  there;  you've  just  buckled  it,"  I 
replied. 

"What  does  this  impudent  puppy  mean?" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Emory.  I  looked  at  Nan  to 
see  her  wither;  but  she  didn't.  Of  what  sort 
of  stuff  was  she  made?  She  stood  there 
smiling,  while  her  sister  was  confused  and  as 
red  as  the  sun-side  of  a  ripening  peach. 
"Why,  father,  he's  my  beau,"  cried  Nan. 

"Beau!"  thundered  the  professor,  a  name  he 
went  by  when  his  back  was  turned.  "Beau! 
Now  by  the  Lord  I'll  beau  him,"  and  with  that 
he  snatched  up  a  hickory  switch  that  some  ox- 
driver  had  dropped  in  the  road.  Mrs.  Emory 
ran  forward  with  a  plea  for  gentleness,  but 
the  professor  roared  to  drown  her  voice  and 
made  a  swirling  cut  at  Nick. 

"Quit  that  now,"  cried  the  beau,  leaping 
back  and  flopping  over  the  fence.  "Don't  you 


38  "  TURK  " 

want  a  feller  to  come  to  see  yo'  gal  ?  All 
right,  then,  excuse  me."  He  wheeled  around, 
dodging  a  flint  that  the  professor  sailed  at 
him,  and  ran  off  down  into  the  woods. 

For  a  time  we  drove  along  in  silence,  the 
learned  man,  it  seemed,  too  angered  to  speak; 
but  finally  he  turned  about  and,  fixing  his  eye 
on  Nan,  inquired  if  she  had  ever  given  that 
lout  the  encouragement  to  call  on  her. 

"I  never  saw  him  before,  but  I  think  he's 
awfully  nice  looking,"  she  replied. 

"Never  saw  him  before!  Then  why  did  he 
come  to  call  on  you,  a  mere  child  ?  Who  is 
he,  anyway?" 

"If  I  never  saw  him  before,  how  do  I  know 
who  he  is?"  she  answered,  and  I  could  hear 
her  titter  as  if  she  were  in  an  ecstasy  of  fun. 
And  then,  as  if  before  the  professor  arose 
anew  the  vision  of  Bowles,  he  snorted  forth, 
"Nice  looking!  If  I  ever  saw  a  worse  scare 
crow,  I'll  give  my  soul  to — to " 

"Walter,"  his  wife  broke  in,  "he  must  be 
some  poor,  irresponsible  thing  escaped  from 
the  county  farm." 

"Impudence  from  a  jail,"  replied  the  pro 
fessor.  "And  to  think  that  I  have  a  daughter 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  39 

that  would  countenance  such  a  thing.  Oh,  it 
must  be  written  in  the  book  of  Fate  that  I  am 
to  be  disgraced." 

"Well,  none  of  my  people  ever  disgraced — " 

"Oh,  I  know  all  about  your  people,  Louise; 
but  Fate,  like  a  lop-eared  hound,  never  dogged 
your  people." 

In  his  anger  the  professor  had  about  him 
somewhat  of  majesty.  The  stoop  straightened 
out  of  his  shoulders;  he  had  not  the  blurred 
eye  that  looked  back  upon  a  mottled  past,  as 
seemingly  was  his  wont,  but  the  clear  eye  of 
forward  action.  He  challenged  my  respect, 
for  then  I  thought  him  brave;  and  in  that 
part  of  the  country  and  among  my  own  people 
who  had  passed  away,  physical  aggression  was 
the  cap  sheaf  of  merit. 

Ah,  the  desolation  of  that  day  at  church! 
By  the  time  we  reached  the  meeting-house 
the  professor's  anger  was  gone,  having  given 
way  to  a  return  of  his  shoulder-bending  creed, 
and,  I  thought,  in  the  mind  of  the  learned 
how  monstrous  a  god  can  be!  How  learning 
can  warp  and  twist  a  simple  faith  into  out 
rageous  meaning!  I  had  heard  that  the 
preacher  was  the  output  of  a  great  school, 


40  "  TURK  " 

greater,  of  course,  than  Old  Blood;  and  while 
outside  the  house,  before  the  sermon  was 
begun,  listening  to  some  men  talk  of  his  great 
power,  I  condemned  myself  for  having  sneaked 
off  down  into  the  woods  on  the  previous 
Sunday. 

Within  the  house  a  hymn  arose  and  broad 
ened  into  the  outer  air.  From  the  woods  men 
came  sauntering,  the  younger  giving  place  to 
the  older,  and  all,  at  the  door,  gallantly  mak 
ing  way  for  the  women.  For  me  there  was  no 
seat,  but  near  the  door  I  had  an  advantageous 
place  to  stand,  on  a  block  of  wood;  and  I 
waited,  eager  to  catch  the  first  inspired  word. 
But  from  the  preacher  the  words  did  not  come 
with  the  ease  and  directness  of  inspiration. 
In  his  selection  of  what  he  thought  to  be  the 
proper  term,  he  hemmed  and  hawed;  he 
seemed  to  take  up  a  word,  weigh  it,  feel  it  to 
determine  its  texture,  throw  it  aside,  and 
fumble  again  in  his  knowledge-bag  for 
some  other  expression.  He  reminded  me  of 
a  farmer  sorting  out  seed  potatoes.  He  said 
something  about  the  never-dying  fires  of  hell, 
and  the  professor  groaned  "Amen."  It  flew 
to  my  evil  mind  that  he  must  be  thinking  of 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  41 

Nick  Bowles,  and  I  clapped  my  handkerchief 
to  my  mouth,  but  snorted  through  a  hole,  and 
a  man  sitting  near  turned  to  me  and  said,  "If 
you  can't  behave  yourself  in  the  house  of 
God,  go  out  into  the  woods  of  the  devil."  I 
felt  that  I  could  not  behave  myself,  and  I 
went  out,  though  not  into  the  woods  of  the 
devil,  but  into  God's  woods  whence  came  the 
gospel.  There  I  walked  about,  watching  a 
bee  that  labored  on  the  Lord's  day,  culling 
sweets  from  flowers  that  the  Lord  provided. 
The  preacher  warmed  up  to  his  work,  and 
now  his  shouted  words  rang  against  the  tim 
bered  hillside.  His  inspiration  had  come  unto 
him,  and,  no  longer  sorting  seed  potatoes,  he 
was  sowing  grain.  But  I  was  afraid  to  go 
back  into  the  house.  I  sat  down  beneath  a 
tree  and  with  droning  noises  in  my  ears  would 
have  dropped  off  to  sleep,  had  not  a  voice 
aroused  me.  "Well,  how  are  you  by  now?" 

I  looked  up,  and  there  stood  Nick  Bowles. 
He  gave  me  a  grin,  sat  down,  pulled  at  the 
grass,  stuffed  some  of  it  into  his  mouth, 
chewed  it  with  a  sideward  motion  of  jaw,  and 
then,  blowing  it  out,  shook  his  head  wisely  and 
said,  "That's  the  way  a  hoss  chaws." 


42  "  TURK  " 

Trying  to  be  serious,  I  asked  him  if  he  had 
been  in  the  house,  and  he  shook  his  head. 
"Too  slow  in  thar  for  me.  Swop  knives  with 
you?  No?  Then  less  rassle.  Bet  you  I  can 
fling  you  best  two  out  of  three.  Don't  want 
to  rassle?  What  do  you  want  to  do?  Less  go 
down  by  the  creek  and  grabble  for  fish.  I 
know  whar's  a  yallerjacket's  nest.  Less 
unhitch  some  feller's  hoss  and  drive  him  over 
it.  Me  and  Bald  Saunders  done  that  onct, 
and  the  hoss  he  run  right  into  the  meetin'- 
house  and  the  folks  thought  the  devil  had 
come  sure  enough.  Never  had  mo'  fun  in  my 
life — crippled  one  feller.  What  do  you  say?" 

I  demurred  to  all  of  his  offerings  and  then 
he  stretched  himself  out,  put  his  straw  hat 
over  his  face,  and  said  that  he  would  take  a 
nap;  but  a  memory  of  the  morning  came  float 
ing  along,  and  he  got  up.  "I  reckon  that  old 
feller  don't  want  his  gals  to  git  married.  He 
come  mighty  nigh  shavin'  me  with  that  flat 
rock.  That  little  one  was  Nan,  wa'n't  she?  I 
thought  so.  She's  putty  enough  to  take  a  fel 
ler's  appetite  away  from  his  vidults.  Pops 
them  eyes  of  her'n  like  a  whup.  About  when 
is  the  best  time  for  me  to  come  ag'in?" 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  43 

I  told  him  that  about  noon  sometime;  and 
then,  seeing  in  my  mind  a  dish  sailing  at  his 
head,  I  was  seized  with  such  laughter  as  was 
almost  enough  to  split  me.  He  said  that  he 
didn't  see  anything  to  laugh  at.  In  his  com 
munity  girls  set  out  early.  "And  I  reckon  I'm 
from  as  good  folks  as  he  is.  My  daddy  killed 
the  last  bear  that  was  seed  on  Lickin  River. 
This  feller  needn't  come  a  high-headin'  it  over 
me."  He  arose  and  stood  looking  off  toward 
the  church,  and  suddenly  his  eye  seemed  to 
be  illumined  as  if  with  a  yellow  flame.  "Yan- 
der's  about  as  putty  a  dog  as  I  ever  seed. 
Wonder  who  he  belongs  to?  Wuth  five  dol 
lars  if  I  could  git  him  down  to  Scoville — auc 
tion  him  off  thar  on  the  public  squar.  He's 
gone  around  the  house  now.  Say,  these  folks 
don't  hold  revivals  and  shout.  They  ain't 
warm  enough.  But  you  have  to  git  religion 
before  you  can  join  'em.  Ever  git  religion? 
I  got  mourners'  bench  religion  once.  And  I 
reckon  I  would'er  kept  it  till  yit  if  I  hadn't 
seed  a  suckin'  pig  that  sorter  tempted  me. 
Sold  him  for  fifty  cents,  and  a  preacher  eat 
the  most  of  him." 

"How  did  you  feel  when  you  thought  you'd 


44  "TURK" 

got  religion?"  I  inquired,  speculating  upon  that 
mysterious  spirit  that  I  fancied  to  go  about 
from  one  camp-meeting  to  another,  knocking 
for  admittance  at  the  door  of  the  soul. 

"Oh,  sorter  warm  under  the  collar,  and  then 
felt  like  a  kittin  without  claws  was  a  pawin' 
mQ  in  the  bosom.  Didn't  hate  nobody  on  the 
face  of  the  yeth.  Would'er  give  back  a 
chicken  or  anythin'  that  I  had  stold.  ' Feared 
like  the  Lord  thought  as  much  of  me  as  he 
did  of  anybody,  but  I  soon  found  out  the  fack 
that  this  part  of  it  wa'n't  true.  The  Lord  jest 
nachully  don't  care  nothin'  fur  me.  Somehow 
I  set  out  wrong  and  didn't  please  him  from 
the  start." 

This  would  have  given  to  the  wise  man  now 
thundering  his  eloquence  in  the  house  an 
opportunity  to  show  his  pretended  love  for 
the  wayward  and  the  humble.  He  could  have 
told  Nick  that  in  the  merciful  scheme  of 
redemption  he  was  as  precious  as  any  man 
enthroned,  with  head  circled  about  with  a 
nation's  gold;  and  I  might  have  done  the 
same,  but  lacking  words  or  even  the  knowl 
edge  of  the  Savior's  democracy,  I  sat  with 
dumb  ignorance  sealing  my  lips.  "It's  a  fack," 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  45 

Nick  went  on.  "Every  other  feller  that  I  ever 
knowd  had  some  sort  of  a  chance,  but  the 
Lord  never  give  me  none.  Tuck  my  mammy 
away  from  me  when  I  wa'n't  nothin'  but  a  child 
and  left  me  a  daddy  that  was  drunk  nearly  all 
the  time." 

'What  became  of  your  daddy?"  I  asked, 
softening  toward  the  poor  wretch. 

"Who?  My  daddy?  Well,  in  the  stillhouse 
they  got  into  a  scrape  and  a  feller  killed  him." 

"Why  didn't  you  kill  the  feller?" 

"Who?    Me?     I  wa'n't  big  enough." 

"Is  he  livin'  now?" 

"Lemme  tell  you  somethin'.  The  feller 
wa'n't  much  better  than  a  boy  at  the  time,  and 
atter  he  was  tried  and  turned  loose,  he  tuck 
on  so  that  the  folks  raised  money  and  sent 
him  off  to  school.  Whar  is  he  now?  He's  in 
that  house  yander,  preachin'.  Lissun,  don't 
you  hear  him?" 

His  last  words  brought  me  to  my  feet. 
Was  it  possible  that  the  slayer  of  this  poor 
devil's  father  was  so  honored  of  man  and  of 
the  Lord?  Ah,  and  why  not?  Paul  was  not  a 
slayer  of  drunkards,  but  he  was  a  persecutor 
of  the  saints;  and  perhaps  in  the  thicket  of 


46  "TURK" 

this  man's  darkened  soul  a  bush  had  caught 
fire,  and  unto  him  a  voice  may  have  cried,  and 
he  may  have  seen  an  illumined  road  leading 
out  of  the  jungle. 

"Ought  I  to  kill  him  now?"  this  yellowish 
boy  inquired. 

"You  mustn't  ask  me.  I  belong  to  a  differ 
ent  breed  from  you.  But  the  man  that  killed 
my  daddy  couldn't  preach.  I'd  set  his  church 
on  fire  and  shoot  him  as  he  run  out." 

He  looked  at  me  and  grinned.  "I  reckon 
you  are  a  good  deal  of  a  young  devil,  ain't 
you?  That's  what  I've  hearn.  And  I've 
hearn,  too,  that  the  man  that's  got  you  said 
he'd  worry  the  most  of  it  outen  you.  Hello, 
meetin'  is  busted." 

As  my  skill  in  driving  was  not  to  the  notion 
of  the  professor,  I  sat  back  in  the  barouche  on 
the  way  home.  While  the  text  and  the  sermon 
were  under  discussion,  I  sneaked  the  oppor 
tunity  for  a  few  words  with  Amy.  I  asked  her 
if  the  preacher  were  a  good  man,  and  she 
looked  surprised.  "Why,  of  course,"  she 
said.  "What  made  you  ask  such  a  question 
as  that?" 

"Because  he  killed  a  man." 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  47 

"But  haven't  your  people  killed  men?" 

"Yes,  but  they  didn't  go  about  and  preach." 

"But  wouldn't  they  have  been  better  men  if 
they  had?" 

She  was  too  much  for  me,  and  in  deference 
to  her  I  bowed  my  head.  The  professor 
looked  back  at  me.  "Talking  about  Mr. 
Hoover,  are  you?" 

"Talkin'  about  the  preacher — don't  know 
his  name,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  not  knowing  anything  about  him, 
you  have  no  right  to  discuss  him." 

"I  might  know  somethin'  about  him  without 
knowin'  his  name,"  I  ventured  to  remark;  and 
for  a  time  the  professor  said  nothing,  looking 
forward  and  giving  his  attention  to  a  rough 
place  in  the  road.  But  when  he  had  kept  the 
wheel  safely  out  of  a  deep  rut,  he  looked  back 
at  me.  "You  heard  of  his  killing  a  worthless 
fellow  named  Bowles,  I  suppose.  He  was 
hardly  worth  killing,  but  of  course  that  was 
neither  here  nor  there,  so  far  as  the  deed  was 
concerned.  Previous  to  that  time  Hoover 
was  wild  and  worse  than  reckless.  He  neither 
feared  God  nor  respected  man;  but  that  trag 
edy  reformed  him,  and  since  then  he  has 


48  "  TURK  " 

done  a  vast  amount  of  good.  And  I  feel  that 
surely  his  soul  is  elected  to  salvation,  but  of 
course  you  don't  know  anything  about  that." 

I  was  bold  enough  to  reply  to  him,  "Reckon 
he'll  be  saved  because  he  had  a  chance  to  live 
and  be  sorry  for  what  he  had  done.  But  how 
about  the  man  that  was  killed?  He  didn't 
have  any  chance.  Was  he  elected  to  salva 
tion?" 

He  pulled  his  horses  to  skirt  a  mud  puddle 
and  again  gave  attention  to  me.  "Turk,  you 
are  impudent.  You  haven't  the  intelligence 
to  understand,  and  when  your  little  knowl 
edge  gives  out,  you  supply  its  place  with 
impertinence." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  Mrs.  Emory  spoke  up. 
"His  question  is  but  natural,  especially  as  it 
has,  no  doubt,  often  been  asked  before;  but  I 
am  like  Turk,  for  I  should  like  to  know  what 
has  become  of  the  soul  of  the  man  that  had 
no  chance  to  repent." 

The  professor  puffed  up  like  a  pouter 
pigeon.  "If  I  believed  in  the  transmigration 
of  the  soul,"  said  he,  "I  should  settle  it  that 
the  soul  of  that  wretch  Bowles  is  now  in  a 
hog,  one  day  to  return  to  the  pretense  of  man- 


NICK  CALLS  ON  NAN  49 

like  shape  and  enter  the  body  of  a  negro 
trader." 

"Walter,"  she  cautioned  him,  "be  careful 
how  you  talk.  Remember  one  of  the  aptest 
of  all  quotations,  'Your  words  draw  ears.' " 

He  whipped  at  a  lagging  horse  and  for  a 
time  was  silent;  then  he  asked  who  had  told 
me  of  the  preacher's  "unfortunate  affair  with 
Bowles." 

"His  son,"  I  answered. 

"Bowies'  son?  I  didn't  know  he  left  a  son. 
Where  does  he  live?" 

"Off  somewhere  over  the  creek — works  in  a 
field  that  joins  us."  » 

"Why,  I  don't  know  but  that  I  should  like 
to  see  him." 

"You  have  seen  him." 

"Have  seen  him?     When?" 

"To-day,  when  he  came  over  to  call  on 
Nan." 

Nan  shrieked  with  laughter  and  clapped  her 
hands.  The  professor  cleared  his  throat.  "I 
don't  like  the  traps  you  set  for  me,  sir." 

"Walter,"  Mrs.  Emory  spoke  up,  "he  didn't 
set  a  trap  for  you.  You  set  it  for  yourself." 

"Louise,"  said  the  learned  man,  "you  may  be 


50  "TURK" 

unconscious  of  the  fact;  but  you  are  stimulating 
rebellion  in  that  boy.  Turk,  do  you  know 
what  rebellion  is?" 

Before  I  could  answer,  Nan  giggled  out, 
"He  knows  what  laziness  is." 

"I  wasn't  speaking  to  you,  dragon-fly,"  said 
the  professor,  reaching  back  and,  with  the  tip 
end  of  his  whip,  touching  her  dark  curls. 
"What  is  rebellion,  Turk?" 

"It's  refusin'  to  do  somethin'  that  somebody 
wants  you  to  do  that  oughtn't  to  be  done." 

He  popped  his  whip.  "Satan  was  without 
a  doubt  one  of  the  teachers  at  Old  Blood." 
And  when  we  had  gone  a  short  distance 
further  he  added:  "While  they  are  getting 
dinner  ready,  you  go  round  the  field  to  see 
that  there  are  no  hogs  in  the  corn." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  REVENGE  OF  MOSE  AND  TAB 


HILE  walking  along  a  cattle  path 
crooking  its  way  through  weeds 
that  grew  rank  in  the  bottom,  some 
one  called  to  me.  I  halted  in  a 
cleared  place,  and  out  of  the  green  jungle 
came  our  hired  men,  Mose  and  Tab,  both 
drunk.  They  said  something  about  having 
caught  me  at  last,  and  then  stood  leering  at 
me.  I  asked  them  what  they  wanted,  and 
they  replied  that  I  was  the  prize  they  were 
after;  and  with  that  Mose  seized  me,  while 
Tab  tripped  me  to  the  ground.  I  bit  and 
scratched,  but  it  was  of  no  use.  "The  little 
devil's  like  a  wild  boar-pig — won't  squeal 
nohow,"  said  Mose,  bearing  upon  my  back 
with  his  knees,  tying  my  hands  behind  me 
with  his  suspenders.  "Oh,  you'd  make  at  me 
with  a  pitchfork,  would  you?" 

"With    a    shotgun    when    I    get    loose,"    I 
answered,  now  lying  still,  knowing  that  it  was 

of  no  avail  to  struggle. 

51 


52  "  TURK  " 

"When  you  git  loose,"  roared  Tab.  "All 
right,  when  you  git  loose." 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  me?" 

"Put  you  across  a  log,"  the  brute  replied, 
tying  my  feet. 

They  carried  me  out  into  the  woods,  found 
a  log,  and  threw  me  across  it.  I  heard  them 
cutting  switches.  And  then  without  more 
ceremony,  they  began  to  lash  me.  Let  some 
man  that  has  stood  at  the  whipping-post  tell 
of  the  agony  I  must  have  suffered;  but  the 
log  being  small  and  my  mouth  biting  at  the 
grass,  I  made  no  outcry.  Within  my  breast 
was  a  fury  hotter  than  the  sun  which,  pouring 
down  between  two  trees,  baked  the  blood  on 
my  back.  A  black  hand  seemed  to  grip  at 
my  throat,  and  then  I  knew  nothing. 

When  I  came  to,  I  was  lying  on  my  back, 
untied.  The  sun  was  far  over  in  the  west. 
Above  me,  on  the  dead  prong  of  a  lightning- 
blasted  tree,  a  rain  crow  was  calling,  and  near 
by  a  cow  was  ringing  her  bell.  It  was  as 
much  as  I  could  do  to  get  up,  and  I  staggered 
when  I  arose.  Twice  I  stumbled  and  fell 
before  reaching  the  road.  Out  in  the  road  I 
fainted  into  the  darkest  oblivion,  and  when 


THE  REVENGE  OF  MOSE  AND  TAB  53 

the  light  came  back  I  was  in  bed,  not  in  the 
professor's  house — but  in  a  cabin  with  rough 
and  unhewed  walls.  An  old  man  came  to  the 
bed  and  looked  at  me.  "What's  your  name, 
little  feller?"  he  inquired.  I  told  him  that 
they  called  me  Turk,  but  that  my  name  was 
Lorenzo  Griffin.  I  looked  hard  at  him  to  see 
if  he  smiled,  but  he  did  not.  On  his  old, 
shaven  face  there  was  the  divine  light  of  pity. 
"I  knew  your  father  and  nearly  all  your 
people,"  he  said.  I  asked  him  if  any  of  my  peo 
ple  had  ever  killed  any  of  his,  and  he  smiled. 

"No,"  he  said,  "we  were  good  friends.  Your 
father  was  the  only  man  I  ever  swopped 
horses  with  that  didn't  cheat  me.  Turn  over 
here  and  let  me  get  at  you  a  little  better.  I 
bathed  your  back  and  got  your  shirt  off  the 
best  I  could.  Somebody  has  given  you  the 
cross  gridiron,  I  tell  you.  Who  was  it?" 

I  told  him  as  he  was  bathing  my  wounds, 
and  he  spoke  words  of  pity.  "But  you  must 
return  good  for  evil,"  he  said  with  a  low 
chuckle;  and  when  I  told  him  that  I  hoped  to 
live  long  enough  to  see  those  devils  hanged, 
he  replied  that  the  hanging  of  such  scoundrels 
was  always  a  good. 


54  "TURK" 

The  candle  on  a  table  at  the  head  of  my 
bed  began  to  splutter,  and  with  his  fingers  he 
snuffed  it,  but  in  doing  so  plucked  too  deep 
and  put  out  the  light,  but  in  a  big  fireplace, 
where  a  kettle  bubbled,  there  was  a  bed  of 
coals,  and  here,  stooping  and  blowing  till  his 
face  was  red,  he  lighted  the  candle  and 
brought  it  back.  He  propped  me  up  as  best 
he  could,  and  bringing  on  a  tin  platter  some 
sort  of  stew  from  a  pot,  commanded  me  to 
eat.  I  did,  and  with  a  relish,  for  the  stew  was 
most  savory. 

"Soft-shell  turtle,"  he  said.  "Caught  'em 
down  on  the  sand-bar.  The  creek  empties  into 
the  river  not  far  from  here,  and  there's  a  big 
stretch  of  sand — finest  place  you  ever  saw  for 
turtles.  And  it  will  be  quite  an  easy  place  to 
bury  those  fellers  when  you  catch  'em — high 
water  will  come  along  and  take  'em  away,  and 
then  you'd  be  through  with  'em  forever. 
Good  straight-out  limbs  along  the  bank  to 
hang  'em  on,  too." 

"What  is  your  name?"  I  inquired,  "and  why 
do  you  live  here  all  by  yourself?" 

"Why,  I  don't  live  by  myself.  I've  got  an 
old  dog,  if  a  wild  hog  hasn't  killed  him;  and, 


THE  REVENGE  OF  MOSE  AND  TAB     55 

as  for  my  name,  why,  I'm  Champ  Jones. 
Ever  hear  of  me?" 

"I  don't  recollect." 

"Of  course  not.  You  were  too  young.  Ha, 
it  was  a  long  time  ago;  not  as  long  as  my  dis 
grace  has  made  it  seem,  but  a  long  time  for 
all  that.  Once  in  our  community  we  had  a 
strange  sort  of  commonwealth's  attorney. 
He  prevailed  over  a  jury  and  sent  me  to  the 
penitentiary  for  letting  a  man  strike  me  with 
a  cowhide." 

"For  letting  a  man  hit  you!"  I  cried  out,  for 
the  moment  forgetting  my  wounds. 

"Yes.  At  an  election  one  day  a  man  struck 
me  with  a  rawhide.  Well,  I  killed  him,  and 
this  prosecutor  so  warped  the  jury  that  I  was 
sent  to  the  penitentiary.  Everybody  said  it 
was  an  outrage;  but  when  I  came  out  with  the 
lime  smell  of  the  prison  on  me,  men  shied  off, 
it  seemed  to  me.  It  takes  a  long  time  to  get 
off  that  smell.  When  we  have  measles  after 
being  pretty  well  grown,  if  we  take  a  slight 
cold  we  can  taste  the  disease  for  years  after 
ward;  and  the  penitentiary  leaves  a  smell. 
Do  you  smell  it?" 

I  ought  to  have  told  him  that  in  the  kindli- 


56  '  TURK  " 

ness  of  his  nature  I  scented  a  sweet  flower,  but 
did  not  know  how  to  tell  him.  "Ah,  you  do 
smell  the  prison,"  he  said,  before  I  could  make 
any  sort  of  a  reply.  I  protested  that  I  did 
not,  and  was  so  earnest  that  he  must  have 
been  pleased,  for  he  brought  me  more  of  his 
turtle  stew  and  urged  me  to  eat  it.  Now,  in 
this  after-day,  I  can  see  him  as  he  stood  there 
in  the  light  of  the  candle,  looking  down  upon 
me,  and  I  wonder  at  the  enlightened  and  the 
barbarous  state  of  our  society.  On  the  one 
hand  orators  whose  words  rumbled  and 
echoed  throughout  the  country — Clays  and 
Breckenridges,  the  eagles  of  statesmanship 
soaring  high;  on  the  other  hand  fierce  bru 
tality  and  bloody  violence.  But  with  it  all, 
the  high  and  the  low,  there  was  an  eloquence 
in  daily  life  among  the  high,  the  pure,  the 
noble;  and  with  the  low  was  a  bold  assertion 
in  whose  energy  there  was  a  sort  of  barbaric 
music.  The  schoolhouse  was  not  indeed,  as 
now,  the  nursery  of  mathematics  and  the 
sciences;  but  was  a  place  of  declamation. 
Champ  Jones  had  been  a  political  orator. 

"So,"  said  the  old  man,  taking  the  tin  plat 
ter  and  putting  it  on  the  candlestand,  "I  live 


THE  REVENGE  OF  MOSE  AND  TAB     57 

out  here  where  very  few  people  can  see  me. 
I  have  a  field  sheltered  by  the  woods  all 
around.  I  raise  enough  to  eat;  and  first  and 
last  I  do  a  good  deal  of  trapping  along  the 
river,  sell  skins  and  buy  what  few  things  I 
need." 

"I  would  like  to  come  and  trap  with  you,  till 
I  get  enough  money  to  buy  a  gun,"  I  said;  and 
the  old  fellow's  eyes  twinkled, 

"Oh,  you're  thinking  about  the  wretches 
that  whipped  you,  eh?  Just  as  well  take  your 
mind  off  them;  they  are  gone,  and  maybe 
you'll  never  see  'em  again." 

In  substance  I  told  him  I  hoped  that  God 
would  not  so  desert  me,  and  he  laughed  and 
reaching  over  put  the  hair  back  out  of  my 
eyes.  "Ah,  it  would  be  a  great  man  that  could 
forget  a  whipping,  greater  than  we  have 
among  us,  my  son." 

"A  coward  with  no  recollection,"  I  replied. 
Tenderly  touching  my  breast,  he  said  that  I 
had  spoken  beyond  my  years.  "It  strikes  me, 
Lorenzo,  that  you  are  a  pretty  bright  boy;  but 
the  Griffins  were  all  as  sharp  as  steel  traps 
and  as  ready  to  snap." 

"Tell  me  how  you  found  me,"  I  asked  of  him. 


58  "TURK" 

"Oh,  asleep  beside  the  road.  I  was  in  a 
carryall,  driving  along,  thinking  about  the 
peculiar  stench  of  the  cell,  when  I  saw  you 
lying  there  asleep;  and  when  I  drew  up  and 
took  a  good  look  at  you,  I  thought  your 
dreams  must  be  red,  for  you  were  covered 
with  blood.  I  thought  then  it  was  a  case  of 
murder,  as  in  fact  it  was  almost;  but  I  touched 
you,  and  you  groaned,  and  I  put  you  in  the 
wagon  and  brought  you  here.  I  know  how  to 
treat  gashes,  for  I  saw  them  inflicted  in  prison, 
and  in  the  hospital  I  watched  the  doctors  take 
care  of  them.  So,  you  work  for  Emory?" 

"Yes,  but  I'd  rather  live  with  you  and  catch 
minks." 

"But  I  heard  he  had  you  bound  to  him.  In 
this  instance,  my  son,  better  not  break  the 
strings  of  the  law.  But  whenever  you  want  to 
see  me,  you  shall  be  welcome;  for,  as  I  say, 
your  father  was  the  only  man  that  could  have 
cheated  me  in  a  horse  trade  and  didn't.  It's 
getting  along  toward  ten  o'clock,  and  now  you 
go  to  sleep  and  early  in  the  morning  I'll  go 
over  and  tell  Emory." 

I  could  not  argue  him  out  of  his  notion. 
His  chin  was  too  square  and  his  nose  too 


THE  REVENGE  OF  MOSE  AND  TAB     59 

prominent;  so  I  dropped  off  into  a  sleep 
almost  as  profound  as  death  itself,  and  when 
I  awoke  the  sun  was  shining  and  the  professor 
was  entering  at  the  door.  I  nodded,  but  he 
made  no  sign  at  all.  His  eyes  were  kindly, 
though,  and  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed 
and  felt  my  pulse.  Old  Champ  came  in  and 
stood  looking  on. 

"Mr.  Jones,  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,"  said 
the  professor,  taking  his  fingers  off  my  wrist. 
"The  poor  fellow  might  have  died." 

"Would  you  have  cared,  sir?"  I  asked;  and 
old  Champ  chuckled,  but  the  professor  did 
not  even  smile.  "Turk,"  said  he,  "you  should 
not  have  put  that  question.  I  am  a  Christian, 
sir." 

And  then  Champ  said  something  that 
tickled  me.  "Elected  or  a  continuous  candi 
date?" 

"Elected,  sir,"  said  the  professor,  bowing  to 
him.  "We  have  God's  word  and  should  know 
when  we  are  saved." 

"Yes,"  drawled  old  Champ,  "but  I  don't 
think  it's  time  to  holler  till  all  the  returns  are 
in." 

"Sir,"    said   the   professor,  getting   up   and 


60  "TURK" 

straightening  himself,  "I  see  that  you  are  one 
who  believes  in  falling  from  grace." 

"Peter  did,"  Champ  replied. 

"Sir,"  declared  the  professor,  rising  on  his 
tiptoes,  "I  am  here  to  refute  that  assertion. 
Peter  did  not  fall." 

"Didn't?    Well,  he  staggered  mightily." 

"Mr.  Jones,  I  am  astonished  at  your  want  of 
information.  Let  me  elucidate."  And  then 
followed  more  than  an  hour  of  controversy, 
such  in  its  zeal  and  newly  awakened  vehe 
mence  as  might  have  characterized  the  early 
days  when  men  were  making  ready  to  sail 
westward  for  the  sake  of  conscience.  I  was 
hungry;  I  wanted  more  of  that  soft-shell  turtle 
rather  than  the  hard  shell  of  doctrine;  but 
they  kept  on,  defending  point  after  point. 
Forgetfdl  of  me,  sometimes  one  man  would 
stand  with  a  foot  on  the  bed,  pounding  his 
knee,  and  sometimes  they  would  walk  so 
heavily  up  and  down  the  room  as  to  jar  the 
house.  Finally  I  whined  out  something,  and 
the  professor  replied,  "We'll  attend  to  your 
case  presently,  sir." 

From  the  window  the  sun  removed  his  bar 
of  light,  but  the  combatants  had  caught  new 


THE  REVENGE  OF  MOSE  AND  TAB     61 

breath.  I  wondered  that  old  Champ  could  be 
so  inconsiderate;  but  in  those  days  to  attack 
a  man's  religion  was  to  blow  an  icy  breath  on 
his  soul,  and  he  must  needs  warm  up  in 
defense.  More  than  a  dozen  times  were  they 
on  the  point  of  calling  each  other  liars,  but 
suddenly  Champ  broke  off  and  spoke  of  some 
thing  to  eat,  and  instantly  the  troubled  waters 
fell  smooth. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  the  professor,  "I  wouldn't 
mind.  Turk,  do  you  think  you  could  eat 
something?" 

I  told  him  that  I  could  eat  the  horn  of  a 
bull,  and  rebuking  me  he  added:  "I  hope 
you'll  not  forget  to  profit  by  what  you  have 
heard  this  day.  You  are  now  old  enough  to 
pay  attention  to  such  matters.  I  have 
brought  the  buggy  for  you,  and — and — "  He 
looked  about  to  see  if  Champ  were  listening, 
but  the  old  man  was  busy  at  the  fire — "and  as 
we  drive  along  I  shall  recount  the  gist  of  my 
argument." 

We  had  more  of  the  turtle  stew,  and  then  I 
got  out  of  bed,  faint  and  weak,  but  able  to 
walk  with  help.  I  must  have  come  near 
bleeding  to  death,  and  some  of  my  wounds 


62      ;  "  TURK " 

bled  anew  when  I  attempted  to  walk;  but 
they  were  given  another  treatment  with  some 
sort  of  wash  and  dabbed  with  cotton  lint,  and 
then  I  was  put  into  the  buggy.  Hoping  to 
draw  the  professor  from  all  memory  of  the 
gist  of  his  argument,  I  began  to  talk  as  I  had 
never  found  freedom  to  talk  before.  In 
detail  I  gave  him  an  account  of  the  whipping 
and,  as  well  as  I  could,  told  of  my  agony;  but 
we  had  not  gone  far  when  he  broke  in  with 
his  "gist."  It  was  a  long  drive,  and  at  the  end 
of  it  stood  Nan  with  her  dark  eyes  mocking 
me. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  SMELL  OF  DAMP  LIME 

T  WAS  not  many  days  before  I  was 
able  to  work  again,  but  as  long  as  I 
could  I  let  my  scars  prolong  my 
vacation  from  labor.  Kindness 
was  so  novel  to  me  that  I  enjoyed  it  as  a  maid 
would  a  romance.  Not  to  build  a  fire  in  the 
oven,  not  to  follow  a  plow  through  the  rank 
and  stifling  corn,  but  to  sit  in  the  shade, 
listening  to  the  humming  birds  amid  the 
trumpet-vines  clinging  about  the  door,  was  a 
luxury,  soured  only  by  the  thought  that  soon 
it  must  be  given  over  for  scoldings  and  for 
toil. 

The  professor  had  reproached  me  for  my 
ignorance;  and  yet  he  looked  with  no  favor 
upon  a  book  if  I  held  one  in  my  hand.  How 
many  people  there  were  who,  advocates  of 
the  abolition  of  slavery,  believed  in  a  peas 
antry,  though  it  was  more  of  a  disgrace  and 
not  unfrequently  as  much  of  a  hardship  to 

be  a  "white-trash"  as  a  black  slave!     Strange 

63 


64  "  TURK  " 

atmosphere  was  that  in  which  we  lived;  so 
strange,  indeed,  that  the  Harvard  student  of 
to-day  may  not  without  much  study  compre 
hend  it. 

About  this  time  there  fell,  like  a  brilliant 
bloom,  the  seventeenth  birthday  of  Amy. 
The  mother  pleaded  that  she  must  be  sent  off 
to  school,  to  be  finished;  but  for  what  back 
woods  purpose  it  was  not  easy  to  determine. 
The  family  was  proud,  and  in  those  days  there 
were  but  three  vocations  open  for  woman: 
marriage,  which  was  merely  natural;  painting, 
which  meant  avowed  admiration  and  secret 
sneers;  and  writing,  which  meant  publication 
in  the  weekly  newspaper  if  not  crowded  out 
by  the  flaming  political  screed  proving  that 
the  candidate  from  the  adjoining  county  was 
a  liar  and  not  above  the  unpardonable  sin  of 
horse  stealing.  In  our  neighborhood  there 
were  no  "available"  young  men.  There  were 
hard-working  young  fellows,  with  sharp  eyes 
for  the  good  points  of  a  nag  and  gentlemanly 
quick  of  trigger;  but  to  educate  Amy  for  one 
of  them  was  out  of  all  question.  While  the 
discussion  was  warm  in  the  house,  Nan  came 
out  with  her  low  rocking-chair  and  her  tat- 


THE  SMELL  OF  DAMP  LIME  65 

ting,  and  sat  down  near  me.  "How  much 
longer  are  you  going  to  sit  about  the  house 
and  listen  to  every  word  that's  said?"  she 
asked  without  looking  at  me,  but  busy  with 
her  thread.  I  can  see  her  now  as  she  then  sat 
there,  in  a  blue  gingham  frock,  checked  apron, 
white  stockings,  and  "store"  slippers,  a  white 
spool  in  her  lap.  And  it  seemed  to  me 
that  a  light,  following  her  shifting  eye,  fell 
luminous  upon  her  work.  I  told  her  that  it 
should  not  concern  her.  Then  she  looked  at 
me,  devilish  beauty  that  she  was,  and  muffed 
up  like  an  angry  kitten. 

"It  does  concern  me,"  she  said,  unmuffing  as 
it  were.  "I  don't  want  you  sitting  about  here 
listening  all  the  time." 

"I  haven't  listened  to  anything  you  said." 

"No,"  she  snapped.  "I'm  afraid  to  say  any 
thing  when  you  are  around.  You'd  go  away 
and  tell  it." 

"Yes,  to  your  sweetheart,  Nick  Bowles,"  I 
replied  with  a  forced  laugh  that  must  have 
sounded  like  the  distressed  croak  of  a  toad, 
trod  upon. 

She  made  a  mouth  at  me.  "You  are  the 
ugliest  brat  I  ever  saw  in  my  life,"  she  said, 


66  "TURK" 

and  leaning  back  she  laughed  till  the  pink  of 
a  sunset  gathered  in  her  cheeks,  but  for  its 
very  beauty  I  despised  it.  The  little  cat  was 
so  pretty  that  each  expression  which,  like 
gleaming  water,  rippled  over  her  face,  was  a 
pain  to  me.  Cowed  beneath  her  scorn,  I 
whined  that  I  was  not  as  ugly  as  Nick.  And 
then  she  laughed  again.  "Oh,  you're  a  hun 
dred  times  uglier.  And  you  let  folks  whip 
you.  Nick  wouldn't  do  that.  He  would  kill 
'em." 

'There  were  two  against  one,  both  men,"  I 
cried.  "But  never  mind,  I  will  bring  you 
their  scalps." 

"You  couldn't  bring  me  the  feather  of  a 
yellow-hammer." 

"I  will  bring  you  four  ears  and  bloody  your 
tattin'  with  'ern." 

Some  one  called  Nan,  and  she  got  up,  mock 
ing  me,  and  went  into  the  house.  Presently 
Amy  came  out  and  soothed  me  with  a  look. 
"Oh,  Turk,  the  best  thing  has  happened,"  she 
said.  I  asked  her  what  it  was.  "Why,  it  is 
settled  that  I  may  go  away  over  to  Walnut 
Hill  Seminary — and  board  there.  Think  of 
that." 


THE  SMELL  OF  DAMP  LIME  67 

"The  best  thing!  I  think  it's  the  worst,"  I 
replied  from  the  depths  of  selfishness. 

"Now,  Turk,  don't  talk  that  way.  You 
wouldn't  want  to  see  me  grow  up  in  ignorance, 
would  you?" 

"You  are  about  grown  now  and  you  ain't 
ignorant.  You  ain't  goin'  to  be  tall;  and  if  a 
woman  ain't  tall  it  don't  make  so  much  differ 
ence  if  she  don't  know  much." 

"Oh,  what  an  idea!  Father  hates  the  name 
of  a  college,  and  if  they  called  this  a  college 
he  wouldn't  let  me  go  there;  but  it  is  a  col 
lege,  though.  They  are  going  to  make  me 
some  nice  dresses,  as  soon  as  they  sell  the 
wheat;  and  off  there,  away  from  this  old  log 
house,  I  shall  be  somebody,  and  when  I  come 
back " 

"You  won't  speak  to  me,"  I  broke  in,  feeling 
that  I  was  to  lose  a  friend. 

'Oh,  yes,  I  will;  for  by  that  time  you'll  know 
something,  too;  mother  says  nothing  can  keep 
you  from  getting  an  education — I  heard  her 
tell  father  you  were  naturally  set  that  way." 

"But  how  am  I  to  get  the  books?  When 
you  are  gone,  who  will  care?" 

'Father  has  a  whole  lot  of  books  locked  up, 


68  "  TURK  " 

and  the  key  is  on  the  mantelpiece  under  the 
clock.  But  school  doesn't  open  until  fall,  and 
a  good  many  things  can  happen  between  now 
and  then.  Here  comes  father." 

Hoping  thereby  to  win  a  few  more  days  of 
rest,  I  asked  the  professor  to  give  me  again 
the  gist  of  his  argument  with  old  Champ;  and 
so  pleased  was  he  that  I  was  awaking  to  the 
interest  of  my  soul  that  he  patted  me  on  the 
head,  and  for  more  than  an  hour  granted  me 
the  honor  of  his  company. 

Mose  and  Tab  had  robbed  the  house  of  a 
few  trifling  articles  before  we  returned  from 
church,  and  not  since  then  had  they  been  seen 
in  the  neighborhood.  But  hoping  that  they 
were  somewhere  to  be  found,  I  armed  myself 
with  an  old  pepper-box  pistol  that  I  found  in 
a  closet  and  set  out  to  look  for  them,  praying 
that  the  Lord  would  grant  to  me  the  delight 
of  riddling  them  with  slugs.  The  "gist"  had 
assured  me  of  at  least  three  days  more  of 
idleness. 

On  one  of  my  excursions  I  chanced  to  come 
upon  the  deep-wooded  domain  of  old  Champ. 
A  wind  was  blowing  and  the  boughs  of  great 
oaks  swept  the  roof  of  his  house.  He  was  sit- 


69 

ting  in  the  door,  scraping  a  powder  horn,  as  I 
turned  a  corner  of  the  cabin,  and  shuffling  to 
his  feet  he  gave  to  me  a  welcoming  hello. 

"Come  right  in,  Turk;  glad  to  see  you  as  if 
I'd  lost  a  horse.  Sit  down  over  there  on  that 
candle-box.  Haven't  got  any  turtle,  but  I'll 
tell  you  what's  roasting  there  in  the  fire,  plas 
tered  with  mud  and  covered  with  coals — a 
young  wild  turkey.  Didn't  get  off  his  roost 
quite  early  enough  this  morning  and  I  shot 
him.  What's  that  thing  you've  got  a-bulging 
out  there?"  I  showed  him  my  pepper-box, 
and  he  laughed.  "Why,  you  might  shut  your 
self  inside  of  a  house  and  you  couldn't  hit  the 
wall  with  that  thing.  The  only  way  to  kill  a 
man  with  it  would  be  to  ram  it  down  his 
throat  and  let  him  die  of  indigestion.  Well, 
sir,  I'm  pretty  happy  to-day.  I  think  the  lime 
scent  is  blown  away — haven't  sniffed  it  since 
day  before  yesterday.  And  I'm  beginning  to 
feel  a  good  deal  like  a  gentleman.  But  with 
the  lime  smell  on  him  a  sensitive  man  can  do 
nothing.  It  bows  him  over,  it  steals  in  at  his 
nostrils  and  it  wakes  him  out  of  a  sound  sleep. 
I've  had  it  choke  me  out  of  a  pleasant  dream. 
What  a  memory  an  old  nose  has!  It  remem- 


70  "  TURK  " 

bers  a  scent  long  after  the  ear  has  forgotten  a 
tune.  It  brings  back  a  scene  when  the  eye 
has  grown  blind  with  age.  Sometimes  there 
comes  to  me  the  faint  smell  of  a  geranium 
leaf;  and  then  I  hear  a.  voice,  feet  music  and 
see  a  beautiful  girl  and  a  ball-room — but  the 
lime  smell  always  kills  it.  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  the  lime  smell,  I  should  have  married  that 
girl — should  have  been  in  Congress  these 
many  years,  my  son.  I  am  telling  you  so  you 
may  avoid  it.  Throw  your  old  pepper-box 
away.  Look  out  for  the  lime  smell." 

"I  would  rather  have  the  lime  smell  stick  to 
me  all  my  life  than  to  know  them  hounds  are 
alive,"  I  replied. 

The  old  man  shook  his  head,  took  up  a  stick 
and  raking  away  the  coals,  began  to  tap  upon 
a  lump  of  baked  clay.  "That  turkey  must  be 
about  done.  Ah,  you  may  think  you  would, 
sonny,  but  you  wouldn't.  A  man  can  learn  to 
stand  hardship,  but  not  shame.  In  the  peni 
tentiary,  I  didn't  mind  the  work.  It  was  a 
relief,  for  it  claimed  a  part  of  my  mind;  but 
when  I  went  back  into  the  cell — God!" 

"The  law  wouldn't  do  anything  with  me  for 
killing  those  devils." 


THE  SMELL  OF  DAMP  LIME  71 

"You  never  can  tell,  sonny.  That's  what  I 
thought.  There  may  be  in  the  neighborhood 
the  most  no-account  fellow  you  ever  saw  in 
your  life.  Nobody  cares  for  him;  everybody 
wants  him  out  of  the  way;  but  get  into  a  row 
and  kill  him  and  as  like  as  not  here  comes 
some  man  that's  kin  to  him,  hires  a  strong 
young  lawyer  that  is  keen  for  a  reputation, 
and  away  you  go.  Keep  on  the  safe  side; 
keep  your  nostrils  free  for  the  perfumes  of 
the  field.  Now  I'll  set  the  table." 

From  against  the  wall  he  drew  forth  a  large 
box,  spread  it  with  the  libelous  editorials  of 
the  county  paper,  put  on  tin  plates,  tin  cups, 
knives  and  forks,  and  then  raked  his  turkey- 
lump  out  of  the  fire  and  cracked  it.  The  odor 
arising  was  to  a  keen  appetite  sweeter  than 
the  old  fellow's  perfumes  of  the  field.  When 
we  had  picked  the  bones,  he  threw  them  to  a 
gaunt  dog  that  stood  drooling  at  the  door,  and 
after  dozing  for  a  few  moments  in  his  chair, 
muttering  of  odors  in  his  sleep,  he  awoke  with 
his  old  eyes  bright.  "Just  that  sort  of  a  nap 
does  me  more  good,  sonny,  than  to  lie  down 
and  snooze  for  two  hours.  A  long  sleep  in 
the  middle  of  the  day  sets  the  muscles,  like  an 


72  "  TURK  " 

old  fox  that  rests  too  long  after  being  chased; 
but  a  wink  or  two  seems  to  temper  the  sinews 
like  a  piece  of  steel  heated  to  a  cherry  red 
and  dipped  lightly  into  clear  rain  water.  By 
the  way,  how  does  our  elected  brother  feel 
since  I  gave  him  the  truth  the  other  day? 
Did  he  acknowledge  that  I  touched  him  under 
the  shirt?" 

I  didn't  want  any  more  "gist."  I  wanted, 
rather,  to  hear  the  old  man  tell  of  his  sojourn 
in  the  penitentiary;  it  had  a  sort  of  charm  for 
me.  So,  afraid  that  all  the  pros  and  cons 
might  be  presented  anew  for  my  judgment,  I 
told  him  that  the  professor  had  been  much 
impressed;  and  in  fact  this  was  true,  though  a 
falsehood  the  way  I  told  it.  And  about  this 
time,  I  don't  know  but  at  this  very  moment, 
came  to  me  a  sad  truth,  that  no  matter  how 
humble  the  position  in  life,  truth  is  often  a 
Coriolanus  with  which  one  may  banish  him 
self.  At  this  time,  there  in  the  old  man's 
cabin,  I  did  not  know  enough  to  employ  simile 
and  to  speculate.  I  simply  felt  the  unfortu 
nate  truth  and  acted  upon  it;  but  I  did  not 
accept  it  without  protest.  I  thought  that  the 
fault  lay  with  me  rather  than  the  world,  and 


THE  SMELL  OF  DAMP  LIME  73 

felt  an  inward  soreness,  a  fresh  bruise,  to 
think  that,  more  or  less  of  a  rascal,  I  could 
never  be  honest. 

"The  idea  that  a  man  can  be  beyond  the 
reach  of  sin!"  said  Champ,  sitting  with  his 
legs  apart,  his  hands  between  them,  slowly 
turning  his  thumb.  "My  son,  have  you  ever 
heard  the  professor  say  anything  on  the  sub 
ject  of  slavery?" 

"If  I  had,  I  wouldn't  tell  you,"  with  blunt- 
ness  I  replied,  and  was  afraid  that  I  had 
offended  him;  but  he  smiled  at  me. 

"That's  right;  don't  get  him  into  trouble. 
And  I  reckon  now  I  can  trust  you.  A  man 
that  thinks  must  talk  to  somebody,  a  child  if 
no  one  else.  All  thinking  and  no  talk  is 
stagnation  to  the  soul.  I  have  heard  it  hinted 
that  the  professor  is  an  abolitionist,  and  if 
there  should  get  out  any  direct  proof  of  it, 
there'll  be  trouble  enough  lurking  around  the 
corners  of  his  house.  Did  you  ever  see  a 
paper  called  the  New  York  Tribune?  I  don't 
suppose  you  ever  did.  Well,  I've  got  that  old 
battered  chest  back  there  full  of  'em.  A 
friend  in  Illinois  sends  them  five  or  six  at  a 
time.  It  wouldn't  do  to  have  it  sent  directly 


74  "TURK" 

to  me  from  the  publisher.  Men  who  never 
owned  a  slave  and  who  never  can,  would 
howl  around  me  like  wolves  and  string 
me  up  for  less  than  a  copper  cent.  The 
South  has  got  her  slavery  and  her  religion 
mixed." 

"The  South  got  the  slaves  from  the  Yan 
kees,"  I  replied,  retailing  the  fag  end  of  an 
argument  potent  in  those  days. 

"Oh,  I  see  where  you  stand." 

"I  don't  want  a  nigger  running  over  me." 

He  gave  me  a  pitying  look.  "Error  caught 
you  early,  my  son.  And  I  suppose  that  in 
your  mind  that  assertion — I  won't  call  it  a 
thought — that  assertion  overrides  all  prin 
ciple.  The  founder  of  my  religion — I'm  a 
Methodist — in  Georgia,  away  back  in  1737, 
raised  his  voice  against  slavery,  and  pointed 
out  the  fact  that  eventually  it  would  prove 
the  greatest  evil  that  ever  fell  on  any 
country." 

"It's  a  wonder  they  hadn't  killed  him,"  I 
said. 

'Ah,  but  at  that  time  he  was  under  a  law 
not  swayed  by  politicians.  Ah,  Lord,"  he  con 
tinued,  "trouble  is  stewing,  and  there's  even 


THE  SMELL  OF  DAMP  LIME  75 

many  an  old  man  living  to-day  that  may  see 
the  rills  of  the  South  red  with  blood.  But 
what  did  the  professor  say?" 

"About  slavery?     I  told  you  I  wouldn't  tell." 

"Oh,  no,  about  my  argument." 

"I  don't  recollect,  but — but " 

"But  you  know  he  was  stirred.  All  right." 
Getting  up,  he  took  a  newspaper  from  the 
mantelpiece  and  unfolded  it.  "I  see  here  by 
Prentice's  Louisville  Journal  that  Cassius  Clay 
has  had  another  fight — cut  a  man's  collar 
bone  in  two  with  a  bowie-knife.  I  heard  him 
speak  once  at  Mt.  Sterling.  He's  opposed  to 
slavery,  you  know,  and  there  had  been  a 
threat  that  he  would  be  taken  from  the  ros 
trum  and  scourged  through  the  streets.  But, 
bless  you,  he  put  two  derringers  and  a  bowie 
on  the  stand  in  front  of  him  and  said,  'We 
shall  now  in  a  dispassionate  manner  proceed 
to  examine  a  question  that  has  been  forced 
uppermost  in  the  public  mind.'  There  were 
hisses  and  groans,  but  not  as  many  groans,  I 
warrant  you,  as  would  have  been  heard  if  his 
enemies  had  tried  to  pull  him  down.  My 
son,  what  are  you  going  to  make  of  yourself?" 

"A  lawyer,"  I  answered. 


76  "TURK" 

"A  lawyer,  and  carrying  that  thing  there  to 
pepper  the  law?" 

Taking  out  my  pistol,  and  holding  it  on 
my  knee,  I  replied:  "I've  got  it  loaded  with 
sugared  slugs,  and  will  sweeten  the  law." 

"Ah,  you  are  apt;  you  can  dodge  a  point 
well  enough  to  make  a  lawyer.  But  remem 
ber — my  God,  that  smell  has  come  again! 
Don't  you  smell  it,  the  damp  lime?  Go  on 
away,  Turk,  I'll  be  no  companion  for  you  now." 
He  led  me  to  the  door,  and  looking  back  from 
the  woods,  I  saw  him  popping  his  head,  like 
an  old  dog,  sneezing. 


CHAPTER    V 

HEARD  THEM  TALK 

T  WAS  the  next  day,  I  think,  when 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Hoover,  our  minister, 
called,  to  scan  the  plan  of  salvation 
and — to  eat  gooseberry  preserves. 
Still  free  of  the  field,  I  wore  a  white  shirt  and 
was  permitted  to  sit  at  the  table  with  him. 
Toward  the  ministry  in  general  I  was  doubt 
less  hardly  fair.  Preachers  must  have  angered 
me  with  their  white  hands  and  their  starch. 
In  my  mind  there  was  a  vivid  picture,  caught 
early  in  life,  of  a  lowly  man,  blazing  forth  in 
godly  wrath,  scourging  the  money  changers 
from  the  temple.  Mr.  Hoover  looked  like  a 
changer  of  money,  but,  mind  you,  I  acknowl 
edge  that  I  may  have  done  him  wrong. 

At  the  table  he  asked  me  if  I  attended  Sun 
day  school,  and  my  master  answered  for  me : 
"He  hasn't  been  able  of  late.  Two  scoundrels 
that  I  had  working  for  me  caught  him,  tied 
him  and  whipped  him  until  he  was  almost 

77 


78  "TURK" 

dead;  but  to-morrow  I  think  he  will  be  able 
to  resume  his  duties." 

I  caught  Nan's  sharp  glance,  felt  it  pierce 
me  like  a  needle;  and  then  I  looked  at  the 
preacher.  Was  he  smiling  at  me?  "Were 
you  a  martyr  to  opinion?"  he  asked,  and  then 
passed  his  plate  to  receive  the  wishbone  of  a 
"dominecker"  rooster. 

Again  the  professor  was  kind  enough  to 
answer  for  me.  "No,  they  had  a  dispute  over 
a  minor  question." 

"Turk  tried  to  kill  Mose  with  a  pitchfork," 
Nan  spoke  up,  and  the  preacher's  hand,  lift 
ing  a  cup,  was  seized  with  a  sudden  trem 
bling. 

"My  son,  that  was  bad,"  he  said.  "No  mat 
ter  how  just  your  cause,  blood  is  hard  to  wash 
off.  Who  are  your  people?" 

I  told  him,  and  he  left  off  eating  to  look  at 
me.  "Ah,  a  troublous  stock.  When  I  was  a 
wayward  boy,  I  admired  your  father  as  he 
stood  in  the  street  of  Scoville,  shooting  down 
the  Nesbitts." 

"Turk  is  the  only  one  left,"  said  Mrs. 
Emory. 

"Ah,"  replied  the  preacher,  "and  we  must 


HEARD  THEM  TALK  79 

be  careful  of  him.  Were  you  at  church  last 
Sabbath?" 

How  I  hated  to  hear  any  one  say  Sabbath! 
In  the  sound  of  the  word  there  seemed  to  be 
narrow-mindedness  and  oppression.  "I  was, 
sir,  but  I  couldn't  get  a  seat." 

"But  you  heard  something  of  the  sermon,  I 
hope." 

"Yes,  sir,  until  I  went  out  into  the  woods, 
and  then  I  talked  to  Nick  Bowles.  He  is  the 
son " 

"Turk!"  shouted  my  master. 

"Nay,"  said  the  preacher,  "let  him  speak. 
I  didn't  know  what  had  become  of  the  son  of 
my  unfortunate  victim.  Does  he  live  in  this 
neighborhood?  Is  he  poor?  Ask  him  if  he 
will  be  so  merciful  as  to  call  on  me.  And 
when  you  see  him,  give  him  this."  Reaching 
over  he  dropped  a  twenty-dollar  gold  piece  at 
my  plate.  "Tell  him  that  I  will  work  for  him 
day  and  night;  say  that  he  must  leave  off 
work  and  go  to  school." 

!  took  the  money  and  looked  at  the  man. 
At  that  moment  his  face  was  nobly  lighted. 
In  his  countenance  was  a  memory  made 
sublime  by  repentance.  Out  of  my  eyes 


80  '  TURK  " 

gushed  the  tears.  Mrs.  Emory  put  her  arms 
about  me,  and,  poor  outcast,  I  sobbed  in  her 
lap.  But  the  devil  would  not  long  stay  away. 
I  sneaked  out  ashamed  of  myself,  and  when  I 
saw  Nan,  flashing  in  the  sun  at  the  corner  of 
the  house,  I  cried  out  that  if  she  laughed  at 
me  I  would  tear  her  to  pieces. 

She  didn't  laugh — somewhere  about  her  she 
had  a  pin-head  heart,  and  for  the  first  time 
she  spoke  to  me  in  kindness.  She  came  for 
ward  with  her  hand  stretched  out,  and  upon 
the  palm  lay  a  silver  quarter.  "Give  this  to 
that  poor  boy,  too,"  she  said,  but  I  scorned 
her  offering. 

Mr.  Hoover  called  me,  but  I  ran  away,  off 
down  into  the  woods  and,  to  harden  myself, 
viciously  cut  the  word  "hell"  in  the  bark  of  a 
beech  tree.  Into  a  tangle  of  green  briars  I 
crept  and  lay  down  on  the  ground,  now  secure 
from  sight.  Presently  I  heard  footsteps  on 
the  dry  leaves,  heard  a  stick  crack,  and  then 
voices  reached  me.  My  master  and  the 
preacher  were  coming.  Beneath  a  tree  near 
by  they  halted,  talking  low  and  earnestly,  and 
peeping  from  my  ambush  I  saw  them  making 
many  gestures.  Closer  yet  they  came,  sat  on 


HEARD  THEM  TALK  81 

a  log  almost  at  my  elbow,  and  talked;  and 
their  subject  was  abolition. 

The  professor  held  that  it  was  the  duty  of 
the  God-fearing  ministry  gradually  to  educate 
the  people  out  of  their  cruel  narrow-minded 
ness  toward  an  emancipation  of  all  slaves;  but 
the  preacher  shook  his  head  and  over  his 
countenance  there  passed  a  hurried  darkness, 
like  the  fleeting  shadow  of  a  hawk's  wing. 

"No,  that  has  been  attempted,"  he  said, 
"and  with  frowns  and  cold  shoulders,  empty 
pews  and  threatening  letters,  the  servants  of 
mercy  have  been  driven  from  the  pulpit.  No, 
that  will  not  do." 

"But,"  insisted  the  professor,  "how  are  we 
to  reach  the  reason  of  the  masses?" 

"First  give  reason  to  the  masses  and  then 
reach  it.  But  where  no  reason  exists,  none 
can  be  reached.  Let  abolition  steal  slyly  into 
the  schools.  Let  it  loiter  among  the  types  of 
the  local  newspaper." 

"Ah,  but  the  schools  are  jealously  guarded 
and  every  ignorant  eye  is  a  censor  of  the 
press.  Wisdom's  eye  may  be  blunted  by  the 
lamp,  but  the  eye  of  ignorance  is  always 
keen." 


82  "  TURK  " 

I  did  not  wish  to  hear  more.  I  felt  that  I 
was  a  thief.  But  was  I  to  get  away  without 
being  seen?  Slowly  an  opening  was  made  in 
the  leafy  and  thorned  wall,  and  through  it  I 
crept.  The  professor  saw  me,  but  quickly 
turned  his  eyes  away. 

"What  noise  was  that?"  the  minister 
inquired;  and  as  I  sneaked  away  I  heard  the 
professor  answer,  "Only  a  hog  in  the  briars." 

Knowing  that  my  vacation  was  not  to  be 
prolonged  beyond  that  afternoon,  the  re 
mainder  of  the  day  was  devoted  to  a  renewal 
pf  my  almost  hopeless  search  for  the  two 
brutes,  Mose  and  Tab.  I  went  out  to  the  iron 
furnaces,  five  miles  away,  believing  that  pos 
sibly  they  might  be  found  among  the  laborers, 
and  there  I  closely  studied  each  smoke-black 
ened  countenance.  Farther  up  the  creek 
valley  I  went,  among  the  charcoal  burners, 
inquiring  here  and  there,  but  gathered  no 
news  of  my  brace  of  scoundrels.  Then  I 
went  home  to  meet  my  disgrace.  On  the 
grass  near  the  door  my  feet  made  no  sound, 
and  as  I  approached  I  heard  the  professor 
talking  to  his  wife.  It  seemed  that  he  had 
just  entered  the  apartment. 


HEARD  THEM  TALK  83 

"Is  Mr.  Hoover  gone?"  Mrs.  Emory 
inquired. 

"Yes,   we   parted   in   the   woods  just    now.   • 
Where  is  Turk?" 

"I  haven't  seen  him  since  dinner.  Do  you 
want  him?" 

"Less  than  ever.  Crouching  in  a  briar 
patch,  he  heard  us  talk,  and  the  vicious  little 
brute " 

I  stepped  across  the  threshold.  "I  am  hearin' 
you  talk  again,  sir,"  I  said,  and  while  yet  his 
countenance  was  lighted  with  surprise,  I  con 
tinued:  "I  didn't  crawl  into  the  briars  to  hear 
what  you  said;  I  was  there  before  you  came, 
and  I  got  away  as  soon  as  I  could.  If  you 
think  I'm  a  tattle-tale,  whip  me  worse  than 
your  hired  devils  did,  and  throw  me  to  the 
hogs.  You  and  the  preacher  ain't  the  only 
men  I've  heard  talk  that  way,  and  don't  you  be 
worried.  Nobody  could  get  out  of  me  what 
you  said." 

'Walter,"  his  wife  spoke  up,  "I  tell  you  this 
ill-favored  boy  has  many  a  manly  trait." 

'Turk,"  said  the  professor,  "give  me  your 
hand."  I  did  so,  and  drawing  me  close  to 
him,  he  looked  down  into  my  eyes.  "I  have 


84  "TURK" 

had  little  cause  to  believe  in  man  and  no  cause 
whatever  to  believe  in  you,"  he  said,  slowly 
squeezing  my  hand  till  I  could  hardly  bear 
the  pressure,  and  then  giving  it  a  sudden 
release,  "but  I  am  going  to  believe  in  you. 
And  after  this  you  are  not  to  work  merely  for 
your  food  and  clothes.  I  will  pay  you  eight 
dollars  a  month." 

So  overwhelming  was  this  information  that, 
unable  to  thank  him,  I  ran  out  of  the  house  and 
hid  myself  in  the  althaea  bushes,  afraid  that 
Nan's  mocking  eye  might  see  my  earthly 
pride. 

"Are  you  trying  to  catch  lightning  bugs?"  a 
voice  inquired,  and  there  was  Nan,  dancing 
on  the  dark  sward.  "Oh,  don't  you  wish  I  was 
going  off  to  school  instead  of  Amy?  Don't 
you,  now?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  coming  sullenly  out  of 
the  bushes. 

"You  think  she's  prettier  than  I  am  don't 
you?" 

"A  heap,  and  better,  too." 

She  laughed  and  danced  on  the  sward. 
The  wind  stirred,  a  bough  of  a  great  oak 
waved,  and  a  flood  of  moonlight  fell  upon  her, 


HEARD  THEM  TALK  85 

an  illumined  witch  come  to  snare  hearts  and 
to  set  her  feet  upon  them.  And  then  dark 
ness  fell  as  if  from  the  black  leaves,  a  white 
smile  gleaming  last  like  a  slow  dying  flame. 

"But  I  will  learn  more  at  home  than  she  can 
at  school,"  she  said.  "I  will  learn  and  shame 
you  with  it.  I  will  talk  big  like  the  preacher 
so  you  can't  understand  me,  and  I  will  laugh 
at  you  and  you  will  sneak  off  into  the  woods 
and  hide.  Have  you  given  that  money  to 
Nick?" 

"I  haven't  seen  him." 

"Well,  when  you  see  him,  give  him  my  love. 
His  hair  don't  look  like  hay  and  he  hasn't  got 
freckles  all  over  his  face — like  somebody  I 
know." 

Now  more  than  ever  was  I  determined  to 
rob  the  professor's  book-chest.  With  the 
raiment  of  the  wise  would  I  clothe  my  insignifi 
cance.  Now  had  I  an  additional  incentive — 
would  learn  as  a  spite  to  offset  a  spite.  The 
least  comely  in  all  of  the  ages  have  been  the 
scholars.  The  ancient  bearer  of  the  inkhorn 
was  by  physical  impediment  shut  out  from  the 
brilliant  honors  of  the  tournament.  The 
hunchback  was  forced  into  wit. 


86  "TURK" 

Early  the  next  morning  I  went  back  into  the 
corn  field.  The  sun  was  blistering.  I  had 
forgotten  my  salaried  elation,  grumbling  that 
my  condition  had  not  been  above  the  neces 
sity  to  labor.  Along  the  road,  happy  youths 
were  riding,  and  in  my  sight  they  were  envi 
ously  glorified;  for  could  they  not  hunt  or  fish 
as  whim  inclined  them?  Could  earth  afford 
more  joy  than  that  which  fell  to  their  lot?  In 
their  fields  the  negroes  were  working.  Like 
the  lordlings  of  the  middle  ages,  these  scions 
were  in  no  need  of  education.  Was  not  their 
intellectual  awkwardness  esteemed  as  a  care 
less  grace?  In  my  pocket  there  was  gold, 
intended,  it  is  true,  for  another;  but  was  it  not 
sufficient  to  take  me  far  beyond  slavery  into 
a  land  which,  I  had  heard,  honored  the  toil  of 
the  white  man?  To  obscurity  and  to  igno 
rance  there  sometimes  came  intelligence  of 
what  the  world  was  doing;  and  I  had  heard 
of  a  rail  splitter  who,  though  lowly  born  in  my 
own  State,  had  gone  forth  to  a  land  more  lib 
eral,  and  there  with  his  genius,  with  learning 
ravished  from  the  chance-acquaintance  book, 
with  wisdom  swallowed  while  learned  men 
slept,  he  had  shamed  the  degrees  of  colleges 


HEARD  THEM  TALK  87 

and  gathered  a  harvest  of  the  hearts  of  men. 
This  twenty-dollar  gold  piece  would  take  me 
to  the  scene  of  his  inspiring  will — ah,  but  could 
I,  like  unto  this  man,  go  forth  with  the  shield 
of  honesty  and  the  sword  of  truth? 

Off  on  a  hill  where  the  corn  was  low,  I  saw 
Nick  lagging  behind  his  plow,  and  I  re 
proached  myself  for  not  having  sooner  hunted 
for  him  to  discharge  my  trust.  Into  the  low 
shade  of  an  alder  bush  my  horse  poked  his 
willing  head,  and  leaving  him  thus  I  crossed 
the  field,  and  from  beneath  a  cool  maple  at 
the  fence  I  called  Nick  when  he  had  reached 
the  end  of  a  row.  He  came,  whistling  a 
"Come-all-ye"  tune,  halted  to  throw  a  clod  at 
a  lizard  on  a  rail,  and  then  slouched  up  to  the 
place  where  I  sat  on  the  grass. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  inquired,  turning 
loose  all  holds  and  falling  on  the  ground. 
"Want  to  run  away  and  go  seein?  If  you  do, 
I'm  with  you." 

"No,  I've  come  to  bring  you  something." 
"A  biscuit  with  sugar  on  it?  I  wish  you  had." 
"Something  better  than  that,  Nick." 
"Don't  see  how  it  could  be  better — unless 
it's  a  knife." 


88  '  TURK  " 

I  took  out  the  gold  piece.  "Do  you  know 
what  this  is?" 

His  eyes  sparkled.  "Golly,  where  did  you 
steal  it?" 

"I  didn't  steal  it — come  mighty  nigh  it,  but 
didn't.  Mr.  Hoover  was  at  our  house  yester 
day  and  he  sent  it  to  you." 

He  got  up.  "What,  to  pay  me  for  my 
daddy?  You  take  it  back  to  him  and  tell  him 
to  go  to  hell  with  it." 

"No,  Nick,  he  didn't  send  it  that  way,  and  if 
you'd  seen  him  you  would  have  been  sorry  for 
him.  He  wants  you  to  come  to  see  him,  and 
he  will  take  you  from  work  and  send  you  to 
school." 

I  held  out  the  gold  piece — let  it  fall  upon 
the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  turning  it  over  and 
looking  at  it  he  said,  "Let's  take  it  and  go  and 
get  drunk  and  go  up  the  creek  and  git  into  a 
row  with  the  McLane  boys.  What  do  you 
say?" 

"No,  you  must  buy  clothes  with  it  and  then 
go  to  see  the  preacher." 

"And  let  him  shut  me  up  in  a  schoolhouse? 
Not  much." 

"Don't  you  want  to  go  to  school?" 


HEARD  THEM  TALK  89 

"Who?  Me?  Well,  I  reckon  not.  But  if  he'll 
let  me  kill  snakes  and  fight  bumble  bees,  I'll 
j'in  him.  Wait  a  minit.  If  I'm  goin'  to  do 
much  gallin'  round  the  country  I'll  have  to  git 
some  clothes." 

"Nick,  I  think  he'd  like  to  make  a  preacher 
out  of  you,"  said  I,  studying  him. 

He  squealed  like  a  two-year-old  colt. 
"Make  a  preacher  outen  me!  Why,  he's  a 
Presbyterian,  and  that  sorter  doctrine  is  a 
little  too  much  like  shuckin'  dry  co'n  for  me. 
If  I  was  to  preach,  I'd  want  to  stir  'em  up  an' 
hear  'em  shout.  Say,  if  I  put  some  good  duds 
on  an'  come  over  Sunday,  do  you  reckon  that 
old  professor  would  fling  another  rock  at  me?" 

"No,  if  you  come  back  he'll  treat  you  all 
right." 

"And  give  me  fried  chicken  and  potatoes 
with  white  gravy  on  'em?  Blamed  if  I  don't 
come."  Some  one  shouted  to  us.  "There's 
old  Sarver  hollerin'  for  me  to  go  to  work." 
He  started  off,  but  halted  and  looked  back. 
"Say,  believe  I  will  go  over  and  hear  what  the 
preacher  has  to  say  for  himself.  Don't 
believe  it  would  be  much  wusser  in  school 
than  out  here  in  this  hot  sun." 


90  "  TURK  " 

"Wait  a  moment.  I  told  you  just  now  I 
come  mighty  nigh  stealin'  that  money,  and  I 
did.  I  was  about  to  run  away  with  it  and  go 
off  somewhere  and  be  somebody." 

"Well,  why  didn't  you?  Don't  reckon  I 
ever  would  have  know'd  the  difference.  Why 
didn't  you?" 

"Because  I  never  could  have  respected 
myself." 

He  threw  up  his  head  like  a  chicken  swal 
lowing  water,  and  laughed.  "Well,  who's 
goin'  to  respect  you  a  plowin'  over  thar  like  a 
nigger?  Them  high  flyers  a  gallopin'  along 
the  road?"  He  started  back  toward  me.  "I'll 
give  you  half  of  it." 

"No,  I  won't  take  it." 

"Well,  mebby  over  at  the  preacher's  house 
I  can  steal  you  one.  Good-bye  and  much 
obleeged  to  you." 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE  ROBBERY 

WAS  honest  enough  to  give  to  Nick 
his  money,  but  that  night  I  was 
enough  of  a  thief  to  steal  three 
books  from  the  professor's  chest, 
and  with  spiteful  Nan  in  my  mind  I  read  until 
my  cancHe  ends  gave  out  and  then  went  to 
bed,  to  be  called  a  moment  afterward,  it 
seemed. 

We  were  giving  to  the  corn  a  final  plowing, 
and  by  daylight  I  was  in  the  field.  In  place 
of  the  two  runaways,  an  old  man  had  been 
hired  to  work  in  the  garden;  but  as  the  needs 
of  the  corn  were  pressing,  he  was  sent  out  to 
plow.  During  two  hours  of  one  forenoon  the 
professor  had  lent  his  hand  to  the  plow,  but 
in  the  torrid  heat  he  fretted  and  fumed  till  I 
was  glad  when  he  went  back  to  the  house, 
relieving  me  of  the  distress  of  hearing  his  hot 
puffs  and  sweaty  lamentations. 
The  old  hired  man  was  inured  to  the  sun, 

and  with  a  slow  horse  he  sang  psalms  up  and 

91 


92  "  TURK  " 

down  the  rows.  A  veteran  of  the  Mexican 
War,  he  drew  a  pension,  and  prayed  that  the 
Lord  would  forgive  his  covetousness  in  look 
ing  forward  to  the  coming  of  the  money;  but 
when  it  came,  it  was  his  habit  to  get  drunk 
every  night  until  his  means  to  buy  liquor  were 
exhausted,  and  then  he  would  swear  allegiance 
to  temperance. 

When  I  pointed  out  the  place  where  the 
villains  had  whipped  me,  he  said  that  I  ought 
to  feel  that  my  suffering  was  for  a  good  cause ; 
but  when  asked  what  cause  could  possibly 
have  been  served,  he  broke  into  a  psalm  and 
sang  his  way  across  the  field.  He  was  the 
possessor  of  an  old  horse  pistol,  relic  of  his 
exploits  in  the  war,  and  he  broke  off  in  the 
midst  of  his  sacred  chanting  to  tell  me  that 
with  his  "fuzee"  he  had  killed  three  Mexicans 
at  one  shot.  Then,  more  than  ever,  I 
yearned  to  own  the  weapon.  He  told  me 
that,  of  course,  the  pistol  was  almost  as  dear 
to  him  as  the  blood  of  his  heart  or  the  mem 
ory  of  his  prowess,  yet  he  would  give  it  to  me 
if  I  would  sneak  over  to  a  distillery  five  miles 
distant  from  our  place  and  steal  for  him  a  jug 
of  whisky. 


THE  ROBBERY  93 

Of  course  I  knew  that  a  theft  was  a  theft. 
If  he  had  asked  me  to  break  into  a  store  and 
steal  a  bottle  of  whisky,  I  should  have  said 
him  a  sarcastic  nay;  but  somehow  the  stealing 
of  a  jug  of  liquor  from  a  distillery  seemed  to 
be  different.  During  all  one  afternoon  I 
mused  over  it,  and  at  night  he  brought  out  his 
pistol,  and  its  brass  mountings  gleamed  in  the 
candle  light.  He  let  me  take  hold  of  the  old 
monster,  and  I  looked  into  its  black  bore, 
cocked  it,  and  even  the  resistance  offered  by 
its  strong  spring  was  a  keen  pleasure.  The 
old  man  said  that  he  would  never  advise  the 
shooting  of  men;  but  if  two  men  had  tied  him 
and  whipped  him,  he  knew  of  nothing  more 
appropriate  than  to  put  about  a  teacupful  of 
slugs  into  that  pistol  and  sweep  them  off  the 
face  of  the  earth.  But  it  was  wrong  to  think 
about  such  things,  and  then  he  gave  me  a  few 
staves  of  a  psalm.  I  wanted  him  to  let  me 
take  the  pistol  to  bed  with  me;  but  with  as 
solemn  a  countenance  as  I  have  ever  seen 
worn  by  mortal  man,  he  said  that  the  dear  old 
fuzee  had  not  for  many  a  year  been  bedfellow 
to  any  one  save  himself  and  might  awake  feel 
ing  strange  in  the  night.  I  told  him  that  I 


94  "  TURK  " 

didn't  believe  I  could  steal  the  whisky  until 
Saturday  night. 

"S-h-e-e,  never  talk  of  stealing,"  he  said. 
"The  Lord  giveth  and  the  Lord  taketh  away; 
but  you  mustn't  speak  of  stealing."  At  the 
time  I  thought  that  he  had  given  a  most  apt 
quotation,  and  meekly  bowed  my  head.  "Far 
be  it  from  me  to  council  you  to  evil,"  he  went 
on,  taking  the  pistol  and  rubbing  its  brass 
with  the  sleeve  of  his  shirt.  "But  it  would  be 
easy  enough  to  go  over  to  Horner's  stillhouse 
Saturday  night  and  bring  away  a  jug.  Why, 
old  Horner  himself  told  me  that  he  didn't 
expect  anything  else.  At  the  north  end  of 
the  house  he  always  keeps  a  row  of  jugs  cov 
ered  with  straw — puts  'em  there  for  his  neigh 
bors." 

"You  shall  have  one  Sunday  morning,"  I 
said,  and  he  whistled  a  mellow  tune,  hushed  it 
with  opening  wide  his  mouth,  and  then  said, 
"Ah,  but  don't  think  you  have  stolen  it. 
Think  that  you  have  neighbored  it  away  from 
where  it  wasn't  expected  to  remain." 

Shrewd  fox  was  this  old  man  Ridley.  His 
"profession"  was  that  of  a  cobbler,  and  on  his 
low  bench  he  had  caught  many  of  this  world's 


THE  ROBBERY  95 

villainous  thoughts  floating  close  down  to  the 
ground,  but  age  came  on  and  he  could  not  see 
to  wax  in  his  bristles  nor  to  sew,  and  now  he 
was  the  roustabout  of  circumstances. 

That  night  I  could  scarcely  sleep  for  think 
ing  of  the  pistol.  Dozing  off,  I  would  dream 
of  it,  and  its  gleaming  brass  would  dazzle  me 
awake;  and  the  next  day  I  was  stupid  with 
my  work.  Two  days  were  to  be  worn  away 
before  the  coming  of  Saturday;  but  with  tell 
ing  of  his  exploits  in  Mexico,  the  old  man 
lightened  the  time,  and  at  last  Saturday's  sun 
arose. 

At  dinner  time  the  professor  told  me  that  I 
might  knock  off  the  afternoon,  and  through 
the  sawing  blades  of  corn  I  ran  almost  breath 
less  to  beg  for  Nick  a  like  half-day's  freedom. 
In  a  weedy  yard  surrounding  an  old  log  house 
I  found  him  beneath  a  tree.  His  master,  old 
Sarver,  had  planned  to  go  a-fishing,  and  Nick 
was  keen  to  go  with  him;  but  when  I  unfolded 
the  bright  tapestry  of  my  scheme,  he  shouted 
to  the  old  man,  "Don't  want  to  go  fishin',  Mr. 
Sarver.  Me  an'  Turk  are  goin'  to  church  over 
at  Sunset."  The  prospect  of  stealing  some 
thing  won  him  in  an  instant,  and  his  shrewd 


96  "  TURK  " 

mind  suggested  that  we  would  better  go 
before  nightfall  and  familiarize  ourselves  with 
the  surroundings. 

"But,"  he  added,  "we  mustn't  let  anybody 
see  us  hangin'  around  thar.  If  they  do,  they'll 
know  who  took  the  licker." 

"But  it  won't  be  exactly  like  stealin',"  I 
replied,  attorney  to  my  conscience. 

"Of  course  not,"  he  said,  "but  old  Horner 
always  wants  to  know  who  he  lends  his  whisky 
to." 

The  first  few  steps  I  took  toward  the  still- 
house  were  like  walking  through  nettles,  and 
I  have  since  wondered  that  a  boy  so  reared 
should  have  had  any  conscience  at  all;  but  my 
people,  though  blood-spilling,  must  have  had 
a  pride  in  their  honesty.  At  the  creek,  how 
ever,  I  left  behind  all  regret  and  merrily 
danced  along  the  road.  Were  there  ever 
before  so  many  birds  to  sing  onward  so  foul 
an  errand?  The  summer  was  in  the  full  blaze 
of  its  glory.  The  trunks  of  dead  trees,  which 
in  winter  stood  bleak,  were  now  clothed  with 
flowering  vines;  the  summer  grape  was  turn 
ing  purple,  and  red  haws,  already  resplendent, 
were  dazzling  in  the  sun.  In  the  shade  the 


THE  ROBBERY  97 

dust  was  cooling  to  our  bare  feet,  and  laugh 
ing  we  ran  from  one  shade  to  another,  our 
hearts  seeming  to  bound  like  rubber  balls 
bounced  along  the  ground.  To  encourage  me 
and  to  make  the  time  happier,  Nick  told  me 
that  he  thought  he  knew  where  my  two  whip- 
pers  were  hidden;  and  in  fancy  I  saw  myself 
creeping  upon  their  retreat,  to  blow  them 
riddled  into  eternity.  In  a  spring  house  we 
found  a  jar  of  buttermilk,  drank  what  we 
could  and  poured  the  rest  into  the  little 
stream  to  astonish  the  minnows  with  a  novel 
overflow;  and  further  on  Nick  wanted  to  set 
a  straw-stack  afire,  but  I  held  him  back.  We 
met  a  young  steer,  pretended  that  he  was  a 
wild  animal,  and  stoned  him  bawling  down 
into  a  ravine. 

Along  came  a  boy  in  a  wabbly  carryall 
drawn  by  a  mule,  and  seizing  hold  of  the 
spokes  we  brought  the  creeping  chariot  to  a 
standstill.  The  boy  lashed  at  the  mule,  but 
the  sullen  beast  was  more  than  willing  to 
stand,  as  it  was  in  the  shade.  Nick  told  the 
boy  that  if  he  would  stand  up  and  shout  that 
we  could  whip  any  two  young  fellows  in  the 
country  we  would  suffer  him  to  go  on;  but  the 


98  "  TURK  " 

boy,  crying  out  that  he  would  see  us  damned 
first,  cut  at  us  with  his  whip.  Thereupon  we 
waved  a  salute  with  our  straw  hats  and  cheered 
him,  and  ashamed  of  our  cowardly  conduct, 
we  rewarded  him  with  a  broken  Barlow  knife 
and  a  leather  string. 

And  now  we  began  to  tiptoe  about  stealthily, 
our  actions  sweetened  with  the  fear  of  dis 
covery;  for  we  were  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  stillhouse.  Nick  knew  its  exact  location, 
and  through  thickets  and  by  many  brambly 
ways  he  led  me,  going  in  an  opposite  direction 
as  often  as  toward  the  place,  I  am  sure.  With 
mysterious  maneuver  he  was  deepening  a 
thievish  delight;  but  at  last,  crouching  behind 
a  log  and  then  peeping  over  it,  he  pointed  out 
the  place,  a  low  log-house  at  the  base  of  a 
rocky  hill.  Closer  we  crept,  stealing  from 
tree  to  tree,  and  now  lying  on  the  ground  we 
saw  a  man  closing  the  door.  He  locked  it, 
shook  the  chain  and  padlock,  and  went  away, 
fortunately  not  coming  in  our  direction.  The 
sun  was  down,  but  the  moon  was  full  to  give 
us  light  and  sometimes  to  scare  us  with  shad 
ows.  Near  the  north  end  of  the  house  was  a 
small  window  with  a  wooden  shutter,  and  we 


THE  ROBBERY  99 

kept  our  eyes  upon  it  till  darkness  blurred  it 
from  sight.  It  was  not  in  the  moon-flood,  and 
at  this  we  were  pleased,  for  in  the  shadow  our 
undertaking  was  more  fearful  and  therefore 
more  enjoyable.  Nick  whispered  that  the 
time  was  up,  and  forth  we  crept  from  our 
hiding  place.  Over  at  old  Horner's  house, 
across  a  ravine,  a  light  gleamed  from  a  win 
dow,  and  anon  a  dog  barked.  Was  the  beast 
set  to  watch  the  distillery?  No  matter,  we 
were  geared  for  it  now,  and  to  the  house  we 
went  with  a  determination  worthy  if  more 
worthily  employed.  The  wooden  shutter  was 
old  and  frail.  With  a  stone  we  broke  it,  and 
the  stone  fell  within;  but  as  the  floor  was 
earthen  there  came  forth  no  alarming  sound. 
Most  eager  and  accommodating  thief,  Nick 
did  not  ask  me  to  crawl  through,  but  told  me 
to  lift  him  up.  I  did  so,  and  he  slipped  in  like 
an  eel.  The  dog  barked  louder — was  coming 
nearer,  and,  with  the  prospect  of  a  fight,  I 
gathered  up  a  club  and  waited  for  him.  Pres 
ently  something  appeared  at  the  window;  not 
Nick's  face,  but  a  jug. 

"Take   it   out,   and    I'll   go   back   and    find 
another,"  he  said.     "We'll  want  two." 


100  "  TURK  " 

I  took  the  jug,  a  gallon  in  size,  and  waited. 
Peeping  for  the  dog,  I  saw  Horner's  door 
open.  The  old  man  came  out  and  called  to 
the  dog: 

"Git  him  down,  old  boy." 

The  dog  came  on  bow-wowing.  I  ran  back 
to  the  window,  snatched  the  other  jug,  and 
told  Nick  to  get  out  as  quickly  as  possible. 
But  with  no  one  to  hold  him  up,  it  was  not  so 
easy.  And  here  came  the  dog.  I  seized  my 
club  again  and  stood  at  the  corner  of  the 
house. 

Nick  began  to  whine,  "Don't  leave  me." 

"Trust  me,"  I  replied,  raising  my  club. 

Around  the  corner  came  the  dog,  and  I 
struck  him  on  the  head.  The  blow  did  not 
knock  him  down,  but  howling  he  ran  back 
toward  the  house;  and  then  I  heard  the  old 
man  yell,  "Fetch  my  gun  here — quick,  some 
body." 

By  this  time  Nick's  head  and  shoulders 
appeared,  and  I  pulled  him  out. 

"Catch  up  with  me,"  shouted  the  old  man  to 
some  one  who  was  bringing  his  gun,  and  away 
we  went  through  the  woods,  each  with  a  jug. 
Fleet  of  foot,  we  knew  that  it  might  be  easy 


THE  ROBBERY  101 

to  leave  our  pursuers  far  behind;  but,  afraid 
that  the  dog  might  track  us,  we  ran  into  a 
creek  and  for  a  long  time  followed  the  stream. 
It  was  evident  that  old  Horner  did  desire  to 
know  who  borrowed  his  whisky.  We  had 
heard  negroes  talk  of  eluding  bloodhounds, 
and  coming  out  of  the  creek  we  swung  on 
grape  vines  to  break  the  scent,  and  sometimes 
climbed  up  one  tree  and  going  out  on  the 
branches  descended  another.  With  our  jugs, 
which  never  once  did  we  think  of  throwing 
away,  it  was  hard  to  do  this;  and  once  I  fell 
ten  feet  or  more,  and  Nick  cried,  "Look  out 
there,  Turk.  You'll  break  that  jug."  After 
a  two  hours'  flight  we  regarded  it  safe  to  rest, 
and  this  we  did  on  a  knoll  whence  we  could 
see  in  every  direction. 

"These  things  were  filled  for  to-morrow," 
said  Nick,  stroking  his  jug.  "Old  Horner 
sends  'em  to  Scoville  and  peddles  'em  like 
watermelons.  Did  you  ever  have  a  better 
time  than  this'n?" 

"Don't  believe  I  ever  did,"  I  replied,  think 
ing  of  the  old  "fuzee." 

"Well,  you  do  as  I  say,  and  you'll  always 
have  a  good  time.  Golly,  they  drove  this 


102  "  TURK  " 

corn-cob  stopper  in  here  tight.  Now  she's 
out." 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do?"  I  asked. 

"Goin'  to  drink  one  of  these  here  jugs  up. 
That's  the  reason  we  got  two.  Didn't  you 
ever  drink  any  licker?" 

"No,  never  did — was  always  afraid  of  it." 

"Well,  you  ain't  lived  none  yit.  Here,  take 
a  pull." 

"Nick,  I'm  almost  afraid.  Won't  it  make 
us  drunk?" 

"Wall,  what  do  they  make  licker  for?  Why, 
a  man  never  does  have  no  sense  till  he  gits 
drunk  once.  If  he  don't  git  drunk,  he  never 
knows  whether  he  ought  to  drink  or  not.  If 
you've  got  anythin'  on  yo'  mind,  drink  an'  it 
will  go  away.  A  man  is  putty  much  what  he 
believes  himself  to  be,  and  whisky  makes  a 
feller  think  all  the  land  he  tramps  on  belongs 
to  him.  Take  one  pull  anyhow.  You 
wouldn't  throw  me  over  after  I  stuck  to  you, 
would  you?" 

I  took  the  jug  and  turned  it  up.  I  shall 
never  forget  the  face  of  that  moon.  One 
moment  it  was  splendid,  and  then  I  saw  it 
water-eyed.  The  liquor  burnt  me,  but  I 


THE  ROBBERY  103 

ah-hahed,  said  it  was  good  and  passed  the 
jug  to  Nick.  He  took  a  drink  and  declared  it 
as  mild  as  maple  sap.  Suddenly  my  mind 
seemed  to  break  away  from  rotting  strings 
that  hitherto  had  been  holding  it.  Upward 
my  fancy  shot  as  if  it  would  find  habitation 
among  the  stars,  and  I  reached  forth  my 
hand  for  the  jug.  In  the  next  drink  there 
was  not  so  much  fire,  and  I  felt  the  glow  of 
odd  words  that  came  crowding  in  upon  me. 
Ideas  that  I  had  found  in  books  and  which, 
dim  after  a  time,  had  sought  to  elude  me,  now 
became  vivid  and  within  my  easy  grasp. 
Looking  upward,  I  saw  a  shooting  star  and 
laughed  at  it.  Nick  sang  a  song,  and  his  voice 
was  as  mellow  as  a  flute  blown  by  thick  lips; 
and,  wondering  why  thick  lips  should  be  mel 
lower  than  lips  that  are  thin,  I  was  seized  with 
such  laughter  that  I  rolled  on  the  ground. 
Nick  said  that  it  was  time  to  take  another 
drink,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  had 
uttered  the  most  brilliant  thought  ever 
evolved  by  man,  and,  becoming  solemn,  we 
stood  up  to  each  other  and  shook  hands. 
Another  drink,  and  across  the  heavens  two 
stars  shot  a  race,  both  dying  at  the  same  time. 


104  "  TURK  " 

Suddenly  a  hill  arose  where  there  had  been  a 
valley.  The  murmur  of  the  creek  sounded 
afar  off  and  then  seemed  to  be  gushing  in  at 
my  ears.  Nick  said  that  it  was  time  to  take 
another  drink  and,  catching  at  the  jug,  I 
swore  that  he  was  the  smartest  man  in  the 
world.  And  then  the  earth  began  to  buck- 
jump.  I  laid  hold  of  a  sapling  to  keep  from 
being  thrown  off  into  space,  and  although  in  a 
wild  rush  through  the  air,  yet  upon  my  brow 
the  wind  blew  scorching  hot.  A  deathly  sick 
ness  seized  me.  The  world  ceased  to  gallop 
and  began  to  sink — down,  down,  falling  a  mile 
a  second  into  blackness. 

When  I  awoke,  lying  on  my  back,  the  sun 
was  blazing  in  my  face.  All  hallucination  was 
gone,  leaving  only  a  sickness  that  seemed  a 
constant  last  breath  of  agony.  I  staggered  to 
my  feet,  and  the  first  things  seen  were  two 
jugs.  I  seized  them  and  against  a  rock 
dashed  them  to  pieces.  The  smash  awoke 
Nick. 

"Hello,  there,  you've  knocked  over  the  jugs 
and  lost  all  the  whisky.  Now  we're  in  a  fine 
fix.  What  are  we  goin'  to  do  for  a  drink?" 

The  thought  of  a  swallow  of  whisky  brought 


THE  ROBBERY  105 

on  a  violent  fit  of  retching.  And  down  I 
dropped  in  the  sun,  calling  on  God  to  end  my 
life.  Nick  looked  like  a  yellow  dog  worsted 
in  a  fight;  but  he  was  able  to  laugh  at  me, 
though  occasionally  he  retched,  too,  and 
looked  sad.  Not  far  away  was  a  big  spring, 
and  near  by  the  rivulet  from  it  tumbled  in  a 
ten-foot  fall.  Burning  with  thirst,  we  stag 
gered  down  to  the  falls  and  bare-headed  stood 
under  the  pour,  with  hot  mouths  open.  Oh, 
what  a  gift  of  God  that  was!  Out  of  the 
burning  hell  of  whisky  into  the  cooling  water 
of  Paradise — what  a  transition!  But  it  was 
soothing  only  for  a  time.  Outraged  nature 
was  not  so  easily  appeased.  The  retching 
returned,  and  on  the  moss  I  lay,  sick  almost 
unto  the  limit  of  endurance,  but  along  late  in 
the  afternoon  I  grew  better,  and  about  sunset 
was  able  to  go  home. 

Nick  left  me  at  the  barnyard  gate  and  went 
whistling  away,  halting  to  cast  a  stone  at  a 
woodpecker  hammering  on  a  corner  of  the 
corn-crib.  The  family  was  at  supper,  and 
without  being  seen  I  crept  up  the  stairs  and 
fell  on  the  bed.  My  book  and  a  new  candle 
were  on  the  box,  though  not  in  its  light  was  I 


106  '  TURK  " 

to  cull  a  thought,  but  in  darkness  with  my 
sore  and  humiliated  soul  to  fret  till  misery 
was  ended  in  sleep. 

With  morning  I  was  not  well  and  the 
thought  of  whisky  gagged  me.  I  fancied  that 
my  tongue  must  look  like  an  old  shoe-sole, 
parched  and  cupped  by  the  sun,  and  ideas 
which  sought  to  cross  my  mind  seemed  to 
shrivel  and  to  blast  when  halfway  on  their 
journey.  After  feeding  the  horses,  I  went  in 
to  breakfast  and  was  ashamed  to  look  at  any 
one. 

"Well,"  said  the  professor,  "we  didn't  expect 
to  see  you  again.  Where  have  you  been?" 

"Over  by  the  creek." 

"By  the  creek?  I  didn't  think  that  anything 
could  make  you  look  worse;  but  I  wish  to 
observe,  sir,  that  the  creek  is  bad  for  your 
complexion." 

Nan  laughed,  but  Amy  and  her  mother  gave 
me  looks  of  sympathy.  Old  man  Ridley  was 
nervous.  He  was  sitting  beside  me,  and  found 
opportunity  to  whisper,  "Did  you  get  it?" 
This  brought  a  scent  of  the  liquor  so  sicken 
ing  that  I  was  forced  to  leave  the  table,  but 
revived  by  the  fresh  air  I  sat  on  a  bench 


THE  ROBBERY  107 

beneath  a  tree,  soon  to  be  joined  by  Nan,  who 
came  skipping  out  to  taunt  me.  She  sat  down 
on  the  far  end  of  the  bench,  humming  a  tune, 
and  when  I  looked  at  her  she  laughed  at  me. 

"Woo,  I  smell  whisky!"  and  she  sniffed  the 
air.  "Turk,  do  you  drink?" 

"No,  I  don't." 

"But  did  you?" 

"Yes,  I  was  drunk  all  night — robbed  a  still- 
house,  and  I  think  they'll  send  me  to  the 
penitentiary." 

"Oh,  for  pity  sake!     Who  was  with  you?" 

"Won't  tell." 

"I  know;  that  boy  Nick.  Wasn't  he  with 
you?" 

"No,  I  was  by  myself." 

"Amy's  coming.  Don't  tell  her.  She 
thinks  you  are  a  good  boy,  and  it  will  hurt 
her,  but  as  for  me,  I  don't  care  what  you  do." 

Just  as  Amy  came  up,  the  professor  shouted 
to  me,  "Come,  hitch  to  now  and  go  ahead 
with  your  plowing.  You  are  falling  behind." 

While  I  was  tying  my  hame-string,  Ridley 
came  into  the  barn,  and  without  giving  him  a 
chance  to  ask  I  told  him  about  the  liquor,  and 
before  I  had  got  halfway  to  the  end  of  my 


108  "  TURK  " 

story  he  swung  a  bridle  as  if  he  would  brain 

me  with  the  bit.     "You  imp  of  hell,  you  ought 

to    be    hung    up    and    skinned,"     he    swore. 

"There  I  lay  all   night,  throbbing,   with   my 

mouth  set  for  that  stuff." 

"You  didn't  throb  as  much  as  I  did." 

"Shut  up.    And  do  you  think  I'm  going  to 

work  in  a  field  alongside  of  such  a  thing  as 

you?" 

He  went  out,  walked  to  Scoville,  ten  miles 

distant,  was  drunk  for  a  week;   and  when  he 

returned    he   looked   like    an    old    owl,   half 

picked. 


CHAPTER  VII 

DANCED  HIM  DOWN 

ITH  the  memory  of  my  desperate 
agony  on  the  knoll  still  fresh,  and 
the  be*draggled  Ridley  in  imme 
diate  view,  yet  did  I  think  upon  the 
star-shooting  delight  of  those  first  three 
drinks  and  long  for  them  again.  Time  after 
time,  in  dreams,  the  scene  came  back,  but 
never  the  agony;  and  thus  it  is  that  Old 
Pluto's  broth  is  ever  sweet  with  promises. 
One  drink  of  itself  is  sometimes  a  habit;  and 
one  drunk,  instead  of  ending  in  natural  dis 
gust,  lays  a  permanent  foundation  for  con 
tinuous  thirst. 

One  night  I  awoke,  burning  for  liquor.  At 
first  I  thought  it  a  natural  thirst,  but  upon  the 
gravelly  bank  of  the  spring  I  lay  and  drank, 
and  still  was  empty  of  the  thing  most  wanted. 
During  nearly  a  week  I  fought  this  thirst,  and 
on  Saturday  night  I  went  over  to  see  Mr. 
Hoover,  hoping  that  by  word  or  example  he 

might   give    me    strength.      The  preacher,  a 

109 


110  "TURK" 

bachelor,  boarded  at  a  farmhouse.  He  was 
in  his  study  when  I  called,  and  never  before 
had  I  seen  so  great  an  array  of  books.  In  his 
manner  he  was  cool,  but  not  unkind;  he  bade 
me  sit  down,  and  then  through  gold  rims  he 
looked  at  me  with  a  sort  of  duty  interest,  but 
when  I  began  my  humiliating  story  he  warmed 
toward  me. 

"Young  man,"  said  he,  when  I  had  con 
cluded,  "I  see  you  are  in  earnest,  and  in  that 
will  lie  your  strength  to  fight  this  most  power 
ful  of  all  enemies.  It  is  by  no  means  singular 
that  you  should  want  liquor  after  only  one 
association  with  it.  All  temperance  men, 
many  of  whom  speak  from  experience,  will 
tell  you,  as  they  are  constantly  telling  the 
world,  to  shun  the  first  drink.  At  the  start 
we  may  be  tempted  by  curiosity,  and  then, 
before  we  know  it,  we  are  held  by  chains;  but 
each  time  you  yield,  a  part  of  your  force  goes 
over  to  the  enemy.  Understand  me,  not 
every  man  who  takes  a  drink  becomes  a 
drunkard,  but  those  who  never  run  the  risk 
are  sure  not  to  be.  In  some  of  us  there  is 
an  evil  seed.  Why,  victorious  as  I  have  been, 
emancipated  as  I  am  now,  if  I  should  touch  but 


DANCED  HIM  DOWN  111 

one  drop  of  wine,  the  fight  must  needs  be  fought 
over  again.  Nearly  every  man  who  has  con 
quered  whisky  has  succeeded  in  accomplishing 
much  in  the  world.  The  will  does  not  halt 
with  one  conquest,  but  seeks  others.  Train 
ing  makes  it  strong  and  aggressive.  So,  in 
one  way,  you  ought  to  be  thankful  that  you 
are  now  in  a  sort  of  gymnasium.  The  out 
come  will  prove  whether  or  not  you  are  a 
man.  I  perceive  that  you  have  more  than  an 
ordinary  mind.  The  clearness  of  your  story 
convinces  me  of  that  fact.  So,  now,  prove  to 
yourself  that  you  have  more  than  an  ordinary 
will.  Without  will  the  mind  may  be  but  as  a 
soft  and  impotent  luxury.  So,  now,  when  the 
thirst  for  liquor  is  strongest,  rejoice,  not 
indeed  that  it  is  putting  you  to  the  test,  but 
that  you  are  a  master  rather  than  a  slave. 
The  exercise  of  will  is  akin  to  answered 
prayer.  It  is  a  God-sent  strength;  sent  for 
good,  I  verily  believe.  Don't  take  any  medi 
cines.  That  would  be  a  compromise.  At 
some  stages  of  drunkenness  it  is  a  disease,  but 
not  at  the  beginning.  The  disease  lies  in 
one's  own  weakness.  One  may  be  born  with 
a  tendency  toward  liquor;  but  I  do  not  believe 


112  "  TURK  " 

that  the  taste,  or  rather  the  weakness,  is 
inherited.  If  so,  why  is  it  that  the  boys  and 
not  the  girls  inherit  it?  Inherited  disease 
strikes  male  and  female  alike.  I  knew  a  man 
of  whom  it  was  said  that  he  could  not  quit 
drinking  without  dire  physical  consequences. 
The  physicians  said  that  his  case  needed 
medicines.  But  he  committed  forgery,  was 
sentenced  to  the  penitentiary  for  seven  years, 
and  came  out  as  healthy  a  man  as  I  ever  saw; 
but  as  soon  as  he  came  out,  he  began  to  drink. 
The  disease  lay  only  in  his  will.  My  son,  for 
a  time  during  my  fight  I  thought  that  surely  I 
should  go  insane.  I  had  more  than  liquor  to 
fight;  on  my  hands  there  was  human  blood. 
But  will  conquered  desire,  and  sincere  repent 
ance  washed  off  the  blood.  Do  you  think, 
now,  that  you  are  strong  enough  to  make 
good  the  fight?" 

Within  me  I  felt  a  growing  strength,  and 
told  him  so.  "I  was  weak  to  come,  but  I  go 
away  strong,  sir,"  I  said;  and  he  gave  me  the 
full  measure  of  his  smile,  though  trained 
down  from  all  extravagance. 

"Young  man,  I  am  pleased  to  hear  you  say 
as  much,  not  that  you  were  weak  to  come,  for 


DANCED  HIM  DOWN  113 

council  is  a  part  of  wisdom,  but  that  you  feel 
that  you  have  gathered  strength.  In  you  I 
fancy  that  I  can  perceive  victory.  It  will  not 
end  in  your  being  merely  a  sober  man. 
During  the  brief  time  I  talked  with  you  one 
day  at  dinner,  I  believe  you  said  that  in  choice 
of  a  career  you  had  settled  upon  the  law. 
Don't  let  your  lack  of  present  means  nor  what 
may  in  the  future  appear  as  want  of  oppor 
tunity  discourage  you.  Save  every  possible 
cent,  and  when  the  time  shall  ripen,  put  it 
upon  your  education.  In  the  meantime  study, 
as  I  believe  you  are  doing.  And,  by  the  way, 
that  reminds  me:  Yesterday  Nick  Bowles 
came  over  and  yielded  himself  to  my  dutiful 
entreaty,  that  is,  consented  to  live  here  with 
me  and  to  go  to  school.  I  think  I  hear  him 
out  there  now." 

He  went  to  the  door  and  called,  and  as  he 
resumed  his  seat  Nick  entered  the  room.  He 
ducked  his  head  to  me  and  sat  down.  "While 
I  was  out  thar  jest  now,"  said  he,  "thought  I 
hearn  you  fellers " 

"You  gentlemen,"  the  minister  corrected 
him. 

"You     gentlemen     say     somethin'     about 


114  "  TURK  " 

drinkin'  licker.  An'  it  made  me  glad  I  don't 
drink." 

"My  charge  is  an  adherent  of  the  temper 
ance  cause,"  said  the  preacher,  and  Nick  gave 
his  head  an  assuring  shake. 

"Never  tuck  a  drink  in  my  life,"  he  declared 
with  every  show  of  truth.  "Some  fellers 
cotch  me  once  and  tried  to  make  me  drink — 
some  gentlemen,  I  mean,  and " 

"In  that  instance  they  were  not  gentlemen," 
said  Mr.  Hoover. 

"Fellers,  then,  cotch  me  and  tried  to  make 
me  drink,  and  I  told  'em,  I  did,  that  they'd 
have  to  cut  my  throat  an'  pour  it  in  the 
gash." 

The  preacher  assured  him  that  it  was  a 
brave  act,  and  the  rascal  swallowed  the  com 
pliment  and  licked  his  chops.  I  had  sense 
enough  not  to  stay  too  long,  and  took  my 
leave  when  my  moral  helper  looked  toward 
his  desk,  where,  on  large  sheets  of  paper,  he 
had  inked  the  points  of  his  next  sermon. 

Nick  followed  me,  talking  with  the  mealy 
mouth  of  deceitful  rectitude  until  we  were 
well  down  the  road,  when  he  cried  out,  "Rack 
back,  Davy,  daddy  shot  a  ba'r;  gimmy  drink 


DANCED  HIM  DOWN  115 

o'  licker,  I'll  rumple  up  yo'  ha'r.  Wish  we  had 
a  jug." 

"Nick,  you're  the  biggest  liar  I  ever  saw." 

"Who?  Me?  If  anybody  else  said  it,  he'd 
have  me  to  whup.  I  haven't  told  you  that  I 
didn't  drink.  I  told  the  preacher  I  didn't,  but 
I  acknowledge  it  to  you.  Ain't  that  fair?" 

"Fair!  Anything's  fair  with  as  big  a  liar  as 
you  are.  Think  of  the  chance  that  man  is 
givin'  you." 

"Yes,  an'  think  of  the  chance  I  might  have 
had  if  my  daddy  was  a  livin'.  Why,  I  might 
have  had  a  job  at  a  stillhouse." 

"It  takes  a  sober  man  even  to  make  whisky. 
You'd  be  drunk  all  the  time." 

He  clucked.  "And  wouldn't  that  be  fun? 
But  lemme  tell  you  somethin'.  I  don't  intend 
to  be  drunk  all  the  time,  but  jest  when  I  feel 
like  it.  I  don't  like  to  be  shet  up  in  that 
school  over  yonder  on  the  hill,  but  I  reckon 
it's  the  best  thing  for  me.  I  want  to  git 
enough  education  to  stand  behind  a  counter 
in  a  store  and  grin  at  the  gals,  like  a  feller  I 
know  over  at  Scoville.  He  can  smile  a  woman 
off'n  her  horse  and  right  into  the  sto'.  And  I 
thinks  to  myse'f  that  if  readin',  writin',  an' 


116  "TURK" 

cipherin'  will  keep  me  in  the  shade,  I'm  in  for 
it.  I'm  one  of  these  fellers  that  the  easiest 
job  fits.  Well,  believe  I'll  turn  back  here. 
Say,  my  bed  puts  me  in  the  mind  of  a  mellow 
apple,  it's  so  soft.  It's  all  slicked  over  with 
yaller,  the  posts  are,  an'  I  don't  have  to  git  up 
of  a  mornin'  an'  feed  hosses.  Jest  lay  thar  an' 
wait  till  they  call  me  to  come  down  an'  eat. 
Good-night." 

What  a  fortunate  devil  he  was,  I  mused. 
They  had  seized  him  by  the  heels  and  per 
force  were  dragging  him  into  an  education. 
But  he  was  born  without  principle,  and  noth 
ing  could  fill  the  place  of  it.  The  dyeing  of 
his  leopard  spots  had  been  done  in  fast  colors. 
I  strove  to  summon  up  a  contempt  for  him, 
but  could  not.  Was  I  at  so  early  an  age  lib 
eral  enough  not  to  hold  a  man  responsible  for 
what  he  is?  Or  was  it  a  weakness  rather  than 
a  liberality? 

Near  the  roadside  I  halted  and  drank  out 
of  a  spring,  but  my  thirst  was  not  quenched. 
My  fight  was  on  again,  and  word  for  word  I 
recalled  what  the  preacher  had  said.  Surely 
he  must  have  been  wrong  concerning  a  heredi 
tary  longing  for  liquor.  My  father  was  sober, 


DANCED  HIM  DOWN  117 

but  my  grandfather  was  a  drunkard;  and, 
mayhap,  from  that  old  roisterer  had  come 
down  to  me  the  temperamental  sediment  of  a 
midnight  cup.  On  a  rock  I  sat,  gazing  up 
ward;  and  how  quiet  were  the  heavens,  com 
pared  with  that  night  when  in  a  new  ecstasy  I 
saw  stars  racing  across  the  sky! 

Up  and  down  the  road  in  front  of  the  house 
walked  old  Ridley.  The  end  of  his  spree  lay 
only  a  few  days  in  the  past,  and  now  he  was 
suffering  the  remorse  of  it.  I  was  going  to 
pass  him,  feeling  that  he  was  not  well  dis 
posed  toward  me;  but  he  spoke  kindly,  and  I 
halted. 

"My  son,"  he  said,  "I  wish  you  had  broken 
every  infernal  jug  in  the  world.  Ah,  Lord!  I 
didn't  have  any  money,  but  in  town  I  had  a  kit 
of  tools  stored  away,  and  I  gave  them  for 
whisky.  Why  is  it  that  the  voice  of  misery 
can't  be  heard  above?  When  I  get  down  on 
my  knees  and  pray  that  every  drop  of  liquor 
may  vanish  from  the  face  of  the  earth,  why 
isn't  my  prayer  answered?  Men  pray  for  rain, 
and  that  is  selfish;  they  want  their  crops  bet 
tered.  We  are  told  that  it  is  a  service  unto 
the  Maker  to  kneel  and  say,  'Lord,  bless  us,' 


118  "TURK" 

That's  selfish,  too;  but  when  I  call  upon  God 
to  paralyze  every  hand  that  makes  or  sells 
whisky,  it  is  not  a  mere  selfishness,  but  a  request 
that  once  answered  would  be  a  boon  to  man 
kind.  But  let  me  tell  you  something  right 
here.  I'll  never,  so  long  as  I  live,  touch 
another  drop  of  the  stuff.  What!  A  man,  who 
knows  so  much  as  I  do,  throw  himself  away? 
I  won't  do  it.  I'll  soon  be  seventy,  and  it's 
time  I  was  making  something  of  myself.  Oh, 
I've  got  the  strength.  It  has  been  asleep,  but 
it  is  awake  now." 

Down  the  road  came  a  wagon,  and  in  it 
there  were  men,  singing.  The  night  was  not 
dark,  and  the  driver  seeing  us  drew  up,  while 
one  of  the  men  held  up  a  bottle  and  cried  out, 
"Well,  boys,  here's  to  you."  The  old  man 
stood  with  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  I 
felt  him  tremble. 

"A  little  of  it  might  not  do  us  any  hurt,"  he 
said. 

The  reveler  held  forth  the  bottle.  The  old 
man,  shambling  up  to  the  wheel,  seized  the 
flask  and  drank.  He  offered  it  to  me,  and  my 
knees  felt  weak.  A  burning  water  arose  in 
my  mouth,  my  heart  skipped  a  beat  and  I  felt 


DANCED  HIM  DOWN  119 

that  I  was  smothering.  All  that  was  alive 
about  me  cried  for  whisky;  but  I  braced 
myself  against  moving  forward  toward  the 
wheel  on  which  the  man's  hand,  holding  the 
bottle,  was  resting;  I  moved  backward  to  the 
fence,  and  about  a  post  I  threw  my  arm  and 
held  on  as  if  some  one  were  striving  to  pull 
me  away. 

"Hop  in  and  go  to  town  with  us,"  the  driver 
said  to  Ridley,  who  laughed  out  that  he  was 
too  old  a  frog  to  hop;  but  even  then  he  was 
trying  to  climb  in.  They  helped  him,  and 
away  the  wagon  went,  rattling  down  the  road; 
and  long  I  heard  their  song  and  their  laughter 
rising  from  the  distant  hills.  But  before  I 
went  to  sleep  my  thirst  was  gone. 

We  were  at  breakfast  the  next  morning, 
when  a  man  on  a  horse  halloed  at  the  gate. 
The  professor  went  out  and,  returning  after  a 
short  absence,  told  us  that  old  Ridley  was 
dead.  The  more  vigorous  had  drunk  the 
weaker  one  to  death.  He  was  in  a  doggery, 
dancing  with  the  rest  of  his  company,  when 
suddenly  he  felt  his  way  to  a  chair. 

"Have  they  danced  you  down?"  a  young 
reveler  asked  of  him;  and  without  answering 


120  "  TURK  " 

the  old  man  bowed  his  head,  and  that  was  all. 
His  wife  and  two  sons  came  and  buried  him, 
and  one  of  the  boys  carried  away  the  old 
horse  pistol  that  had  cost  me  such  pain  and 
shame. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  OLD  RAT 

HE  PREACHER  had  praised  me 
for  the  simple  straightforwardness 
of  my  story,  yet  I  had  not  told  him 
all.  I  told  him  of  the  drunkenness 
but  not  of  the  theft,  for  that  were  a  confession 
too  steeped  in  disgrace.  During  more  than  a 
week  I  listened  for  reports  of  the  robbery,  and 
in  my  coward  fancy  held  every  man  that 
passed  along  the  road  was  a  constable  come 
to  drag  me  to  judgment  and  to  prison;  but 
there  was  no  noise  of  the  crime,  and  but  for 
conscience  I  was  to  go  unpunished.  With 
myself  I  had  drawn  a  compact  and  meant  to 
keep  it.  Sometimes  of  a  rainy  day  we  are 
bolder  than  when  the  sun  shines;  so  one 
morning  when  it  seemed  that  the  sky  was 
hung  for  an  all-day  drizzle,  I  asked  the  pro 
fessor  to  pay  me  in  advance  a  part  of  my 
month's  wage.  He  was  deep  in  some  mathe 
matical  problem  and  wished  that  I  had  not 
bothered  him.  He  was  trying  to  square  some 


122  "TURK" 

sort  of  a  root,  and  the  air  about  him  seemed 
full  of  figures,  but  he  gave  me  four  dollars, 
and  I  knocked  over  a  chair  in  eagerness  to 
get  out,  afraid  that  having  done  it  abstract 
edly,  he  might  awake  to  his  error  and  take  the 
money  away  from  me. 

Across  the  hills  I  took  my  hurried  trudge, 
in  the  woods,  in  the  road,  over  worn-out 
fields — saddled  and  bridled  and  ridden  by  con 
science.  It  was  after  the  noon  hour,  the 
clouds  were  thicker  and  the  rain  heavier  when 
I  came  within  sight  of  Horner's  distillery.  As 
I  approached,  an  old  dog,  stiff  and  with  a 
bruise  on  the  head,  stood  in  the  door  and 
growled.  Some  one  called  out  that  he 
wouldn't  bite,  and  I  entered  the  house. 
Three  negroes  and  a  white  boy  were  shelling 
corn  on  a  sheet.  I  inquired  for  Mr.  Horner, 
and  the  boy  said  that  he  was  over  at  the 
house.  Thither  I  went,  halloed  at  the  yard 
gate,  and  a  woman  bade  me  come  in. 

An  old  man  got  up  as  I  entered  and  invited 
me  to  a  seat.  He  sat  down  and,  looking  at 
me,  asked  my  name;  and  when  I  had  told  him 
he  said,  "I  reckon  you're  pretty  much  the  last 
of  your  race." 


THE  OLD  RAT  123 

"And  pretty  much  the  worst,  too,  I'm 
afraid." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  to  that,  but  some  of 
them  were  mighty  bad." 

I  could  have  told  him  that  so  far  as  was 
known  none  of  them  made  whisky;  that  those 
who  went  at  their  instance  to  eternity's  bed, 
went,  for  the  most  part,  in  a  sober  state  of 
mind,  but  before  this  defense  was  in  any  way 
framed,  the  old  man  continued: 

"Your  folks  and  the  Nesbitts  kept  this  part 
of  the  country  stirred  up  for  a  long  time; 
recollect  they  broke  up  a  circus  once  at  Sco- 
ville,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  talk  about 
it.  Old  Clem  Trotter — sold  his  cookin'  stove 
to  get  money  enough  to  take  his  family — 
'lowed  it  was  bad  enough  to  break  up  a  camp- 
meetin'  or  a  session  of  the  county  court,  much 
less  a  show  that  everybody  had  been  waitin' 
for.  What  are  you  doin'  over  in  this  part  of 
the  country?" 

"I  work  for  Professor  Emory." 

"Oh,  the  nigger  lover,  eh?" 

"I  never  saw  him  lovin'  any  nigger — never 
saw  a  nigger  on  the  place,  except  a  yaller 
woman  that  does  the  cookin'." 


124  "  TURK  " 

"Well,  mebby  he  loves  her." 

Hereupon  the  woman  who  had  invited  me 
in  came  forward  out  of  a  darkened  end  of  the 
room  and  rebuked  him.  "You  oughtn't  to 
talk  that  way,"  she  said. 

"What  did  I  say?  I  said  mebby.  There 
ain't  no  harm  in  mebby,  is  there?" 

The  woman  returned  to  her  dark  corner, 
and  the  old  man,  watery-eyed  with  a  sense  of 
his  own  humor,  again  addressed  himself  to 
me.  "Did  he  send  you  over  after  licker?" 

"No,  sir,  he  didn't  send  me;  but  I  came  to 
see  about  two  gallons.  What  would  that 
much  in  jugs  be  worth?" 

In  those  days  there  was  no  tax  on  whisky, 
and  it  was  almost  as  cheap  as  buttermilk. 
"Well,"  he  said,  "the  best  is  worth  about  fifty 
cents  a  gallon  including  the  jugs.  Want  to 
take  it  along  with  you  now?" 

"I  did  take  it  along  with  me."  And  by  this 
time  I  had  drawn  forth  one  of  my  dollars. 
"I  robbed  your  stillhouse  the  other  night,  and 
I  want  to  pay  you." 

"What,  you  young  devil,  was  that  you?" 
The  woman  came  out  of  the  darkness  and 
stood  near  his  chair. 


THE  OLD  RAT  125 

"Yes,  sir,  and  I  want  to  pay  you — for  the 
whisky  and  for  the  broken  window.  But  let 
me  tell  you  the  whole  story." 

I  began  with  the  whipping,  told  of  my  hun 
ger  for  revenge,  of  my  great  desire  to  possess 
the  horse  pistol,  of  the  racing  stars  and  the 
waterfall,  and  he  listened  like  an  old  rat. 
When  I  was  done,  he  said:  "Pity  you  can't  git 
up  and  tell  that  in  the  pulpit;  but  I  want  you 
to  understand  that  I  don't  make  whisky  for 
drunkards — I  never  was  drunk  in  my  life,  and 
I  make  licker  for  folks  that  knows  how  to  use 
it.  Well  now,  what  do  you  think  I  ought  to 
do  with  you?  Confessin'  a  crime,  you  know, 
don't  excuse  it  in  the  sight  of  the  law."  The 
woman  leaned  over  and  whispered  something 
to  him.  He  poohed  at  her  and  laughed. 
"And,  sir,"  he  said,  "my  wife  here,  don't  know 
me  any  better.  Did  you  ever  notice  how 
little  a  man's  wife  knows  him?  She  may  live 
with  him  forty  years,  and  he  can  set  a  joke- 
trap  for  her  and  ketch  her  every  time.  Yes, 
sir,  she  thought  I  meant  to  send  you  to  jail,  but 
I'd  see  you  hanged  first.  Put  your  money  in 
your  pocket.  That  window  needed  fixin'  any 
way,  and  as  for  the  licker — why,  it  has  made 


126  "  TURK  " 

a  sober  man  out  of  you.  I  tell  you,  sir,  my 
whisky  don't  make  drunkards.  It  makes  folks 
honest." 

"Mr.  Horner,  don't  talk  that  way,"  the 
woman  pleaded. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?  Didn't  I  say  a 
woman  never  understands  her  husband? 
Now  crack  my  head  for  a  last  year's  walnut, 
will  you?  But  seriously,  my  son,  you  committed 
a  crime.  It  is  enough  to  send  you  to  the  peni 
tentiary,  but  nobody  will  ever  know  about  it 
from  me.  No,  sir,  and  I  wouldn't  be  surprised 
but  you'll  shame  your  folks  and  make  a  man 
of  yourself.  What  do  you  intend  to  be?" 

"A  lawyer,  sir." 

"A  lawyer!  Then  you  oughtn't  to  start  in 
by  confessin'  your  crimes.  The  best  lawyers 
don't  do  that.  And  you  offered  to  pay  me. 
That's  another  bad  start." 

"Mr.  Horner,  don't  discourage  him," 
pleaded  the  woman. 

"Hah,  what,  didn't  I  tell  you?  Sue,  I 
reckon  you  better  git  back  to  cardin'  of  your 
bats.  You  understand  wool  better'n  you  do 
me.  Know  more  about  a  sheep  in  one  min 
ute  than  you  do  me  in  a  whole  year.  You 


THE  OLD  RAT  127 

haven't  been  to  dinner,  have  you,  sonny? 
Don't  lie  to  me,  that  is,  unless  you  are  fully 
determined  to  be  a  lawyer.  Have  you  been 
to  dinner?" 

"No,  sir;  but  I  ain't  hungry." 

"Bound  to  lie  to  me.  Sue,  set  out  some  of 
them  corn-field  beans  and  a  pone  or  two  of 
that  corn  bread.  Go  in  there  with  her, 
sonny." 

While  I  was  eating  in  a  sort  of  shed  room 
he  came  and  sat  down  near  a  window,  in  the 
light,  where  I  could  take  closer  note  of  his 
features.  But  I  had  no  reason  to  revise  my 
judgment  that  he  looked  like  a  rat.  After 
dinner  he  invited  me  to  view  the  mysteries  of 
his  distillery,  but  the  place  was  reproachful  to 
me,  and  I  told  him  so.  He  said  that  I  was 
picking  up  prejudices  early  in  life,  declaring 
that  when  a  boy  does  that  he  usually  gets  a 
sufficient  number  to  last  him  into  old  age  and 
failure.  At  our  parting  he  shook  me  warmly 
by  the  hand  as  if  I  had  done  him  a  favor, 
rather  than  to  have  robbed  him;  and  I  went 
away  holding  him  warm  in  gratitude. 

Strange  it  was,  I  mused,  that  he  could  make 
whisky  and  during  all  his  life  drink  of  it  with- 


128  "  TURK  " 

out  getting  drunk;  and  I  thus  spoke  to  a  man 
who  invited  me  to  ride  in  his  ox-cart.  The 
fellow  laughed.  "Why,  old  Horner  is  drunk 
two-thirds  of  his  time,"  he  said.  "Ah,  it  is  a 
hard  matter  to  corner  whisky  into  telling  the 
truth." 

As  it  was  too  wet  to  work  in  the  field,  I 
turned  aside  before  reaching  home  to  visit  my 
old  friend,  Champ  Jones.  He  was  standing 
in  the  door  of  his  cabin,  and  as  he  saw  me 
coming  out  of  the  timber  shouted,  "Oh,  I've 
got  something  to  eat  sure  enough  now — quail 
eggs.  It's  pretty  late  in  the  season,  but  I  found 
two  nests  this  morning  and  got  about  a  peck 
of  eggs,  fresh  as  white  clover.  The  old  quails 
took  on  a  good  deal,  and  I  begged  their  par 
don,  which  was  about  the  best  I  could  do. 
Could  have  killed  them  to  relieve  them  of 
distress,  but  hadn't  the  heart.  Come  in.  The 
professor  was  over  this  morning,  and  it  wasn't 
long  before  we  bristled  like  boar  shotes;  but 
his  little  daughter,  Nan,  was  with  him,  and  we 
didn't  fight.  Sit  down  here.  Those  eggs  will 
be  done  in  about  a  minute.  They  want  to  be 
hard  boiled.  Some  fellow  writing  in  old 
Greeley's  paper  says  that  quail  eggs  are  as 


THE  OLD  RAT  129 

high-up  food  as  a  man  can  eat;  talks  as  if  he 
had  made  a  discovery.  I  could  have  told  him 
years  ago;  and  old  Horace  printed  it  along 
side  of  the  pictures  of  a  runaway  nigger  and  a 
bloodhound.  Lorenzo,  that  is  as  smart  a  little 
girl  as  I  ever  saw.  And  she's  a  beauty,  too — 
but  a  sort  of  cruel  beauty,  the  kind  that  is  sure 
to  make  some  man  miserable.  I  wonder  if  it 
is  possible  for  a  man  to  be  happy  'long  with  a 
beautiful  woman?  If  her  beauty  palls  on  him, 
he's  lost  something;  and  if  it  don't  pall,  he's 
afraid  that  he  will  lose  something;  so  there 
you  are.  Now  I'll  take  the  eggs  off." 

The  evening  was  gathering  darkness;  sev 
eral  hours  had  passed  since  my  snack  at  the 
distiller's  house.  No  daintier  dish  was  ever 
served  in  a  tin  pan,  and  yet  was  I  not  inclined 
to  eat.  What  had  taken  away  my  appetite? 
Nan — his  ungentle  picture  of  her?  Could  it 
be  that  ambushed  in  my  breast  there  was  love 
for  her?  Impossible,  and  yet  when  he  spoke 
of  her,  I  felt  the  blood  tingling  my  full  length. 
I  could  with  pleasure  think  of  Amy  or  in  mind 
hold  an  agreeable  picture  of  her;  and  in  her 
presence  it  was  soothing  to  note  the  softness 
of  her  voice  and  the  sympathetic  grace  of  her 


130  "  TURK  " 

manner.  Neither  in  talking  to  her  nor  in 
hearing  others  speak  of  her  was  there  the 
least  embarrassment;  but  of  Nan,  how  differ 
ent!  She  was  a  spite,  a  something  to  make 
one  feel  mean.  Then  why  should  old 
Champ's  judgment  of  her  fill  me  with  a  quak 
ing  dread? 

"Why  do  you  think  she's  cruel?"  I  asked, 
sitting  close  to  the  box  table,  shelling  eggs. 

"Oh,  because  she's  born  venomous,  I  reckon. 
Don't  know,  however,  that  I  ought  to  say  that. 
It  may  be  that  I  was  once  stung;  but  I'll  say 
this,  and  let  it  serve  as  a  correction  for  all  that 
I  have  yet  said:  When  such  women  do  love, 
they  love  to  death.'  ' 

"But  if  a — a  man  loved  her,  wouldn't  that 
make  him  happy?" 

"Of  course.     What  put  that  into  your  head?" 

"You  said  that  a  beautiful  woman  rarely 
made  a  man  happy." 

"Yes,  but  she'll  never  be  beautiful,  except 
possibly  to  people  that  have  a  wild  idea  of 
beauty.  To  me  she  would  be — well,  what  you 
might  call  too  restless  and  sensational.  She's 
too  much  like  a  humming  bird;  she  doesn't 
rest.  True  beauty  ought  to  be  restful," 


THE  OLD  RAT  131 

"And  then  tiresome,  mebby,"  I  replied. 

"Eh,  now,  what  do  you  know  about  it? 
Lorenzo,  you  don't  look  as  if  you'd  ever  been 
a  student  of  beauty.  But  how  have  you  been 
getting  along  since  I  saw  you?  Got  your  pep 
per-box  yet?" 

"I  have  thrown  it  away — tried  to  shoot  it, 
but  it  wouldn't  go  off.  Tried  to  get  a  horse 
pistol  from  old  Ridley — did  you  know  him?" 

"Well,  I  ought  to  recollect  him.  He  was 
one  of  the  witnesses  that  sent  me  to  the  peni 
tentiary,  but  he  didn't  do  more  than  tell  the 
truth.  Didn't  seem  to  me,  however,  that  the 
simple  truth  ought  to  have  yielded  him  whisky 
enough  to  keep  him  drunk  for  nearly  a  year. 
What  about  him?  How  is  he  getting  along?" 

"He's  got  along  about  as  far  as  he  can  go. 
Didn't  you  know  he  was  dead?" 

"Hadn't  heard  a  word  of  it,  but  I  don't 
go  anywhere,  and  people  rarely  stop  here. 
Maybe  the  professor  would  have  told  me;  but, 
as  I  told  you,  we  bristled  at  once,  and  in  the 
argument  that  followed  we  had  but  little  time 
for  neighborhood  gossip.  Tried  to  get  his 
horse  pistol,  you  were  saying." 

I  told  him  my  story,  including  the  visit  to 


132  "  TURK  " 

the  preacher  and  the  call  upon  the  distiller. 
He  laughed.  "Man  lives  only  in  patches,  you 
know;  and  between  the  patches  there  is  sand 
without  even  a  weed  growing.  That  was  one 
of  your  patches.  And  the  old  rat  wouldn't 
take  the  money.  Don't  see  how  he  could. 
Well,  sir,  speaking  of  him  reminds  me  that 
the  curse  of  the  South,  largely  including  Ken 
tucky,  is  whisky  and  slavery.  I  won't  say  that 
Kentucky  is  half  drunk  all  the  time,  but  half 
of  Kentucky  is  always  drunk.  And  something's 
got  to  happen.  Things  can't  go  on  this  way; 
it's  too  unnatural.  We  are  a  hothouse  with 
the  glass  broken,  letting  in  the  cold  air.  Our 
civilization  is  the  most  strained  the  world  ever 
saw.  See  that  newspaper  behind  the  clock? 
It's  full  of  dire  prophecy,  I  tell  you.  Away  off 
yonder  a  cloud  is  gathering,  and  there  will  be 
a  thunder  storm  and  a  dark  night  will  fol 
low  it." 

For  a  long  time  he  talked  about  the  disas 
ters  that  were  sure  to  fall  upon  the  country, 
but  having  heard  such  preaching  all  my  years, 
I  gave  to  it  little  heed.  The  night  was  black, 
and  in  the  woods  I  had  to  feel  my  way  from 
tree  to  tree,  I  got  lost  and  came  out  upon  the 


THE  OLD  RAT  133 

shores  of  the  noisy  creek,  groped  back  into 
the  woods  and  at  last  found  my  way  into  the 
cleared  land. 

In  the  room  where  the  girls  slept  a  light 
was  burning,  and  as  I  approached,  I  fancied 
that  upon  the  curtain  Nan's  shadow  was  danc 
ing,  unrestful  creature  that  she  was.  Long  I 
stood  there  in  the  rain,  for  the  clouds  had 
thickened;  and  when  the  light  went  out,  I 
imagined  that  in  the  dark  Nan  was  still  danc 
ing,  practicing  a  new  mockery  to  put  upon  me. 
But  in  my  room  gentle  Amy  came  to  mind, 
for  there  was  arranged  my  library.  The  can 
dle  burned  with  never  a  splutter,  the  heavy  air 
was  so  still;  but  I  could  not  read,  though  I 
caught  one  sentence:  "Some  hearts  are  cre 
ated  to  endure  a  life-long  torture,"  and  as  I 
lay  half  asleep  it  seemed  that  Nan  was  danc 
ing,  tossing  up  those  words  as  a  juggler  keeps 
balls  in  the  air. 


CHAPTER  IX 

TOGETHER  ON  A  HORSE 

HE  TIME  crept  along,  and  I  lived 
in  patches,  as  old  Champ  would 
have  said.  The  corn  was  laid  by, 
and  now  I  was  free  for  days  at  a 
time  to  read  or  to  roam  in  the  woods.  The 
fall  of  the  year  was  at  hand,  and  they  were 
making  ready  to  send  Amy  off  to  the  semi 
nary.  In  our  household  this  was  of  exciting 
moment,  and  one  day  Nan  went  over  to  a 
neighbor's  to  tell  about  it.  Rain  began  to 
fall,  continuing  until  dark,  and  then  I  was 
sent  on  a  side-saddled  horse  to  fetch  her 
home.  When  I  arrived,  dripping,  at  the 
door,  she  frowned  upon  me,  for  she  wanted 
to  remain  over  night;  but  willful  as  she  was 
she  did  not  presume  to  disobey  her  father, 
and  he  had  sent  his  command.  The  rain  had 
ceased,  and  in  the  ragged  sky  there  was  a  half 
moon.  I  offered  to  walk,  but  in  the  presence 
of  the  neighbors  she  was  ashamed  to  consent; 
so  I  got  behind  her  on  the  horse.  For  a  time 


TOGETHER  ON  A  HORSE  135 

she  sang  as  we  cantered  along  the  road.  Sud 
denly  the  horse  shied,  and  I  caught  her  about 
the  waist. 

"Turn  me  loose!"  she  cried. 

I  did  so  and  apologized:  "I  was  afraid  you'd 
fall." 

"I'd  rather  you'd  let  me.  You  grab  like  a 
bear." 

"Were  you  ever  grabbed  by  a  bear?" 

"Yes,  just  then." 

Through  the  mud  we  splashed.  "I  am 
thankful  to  you  for  one  thing,"  I  said. 

"Whatfs  that?" 

"You  didn't  tell  the  folks  I  was  drunk." 

"Do  you  think  I'm  a  tattle-tale?" 

"No.  But  how  did  you  find  out  I  was 
drunk?" 

"Didn't — guessed  it.  Won't  you  be  sorry 
when  Amy  goes?" 

"Yes,  won't  you?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Somehow  with  her 
goodness  she  makes  me  sad." 

"I  didn't  know  anything  could  make  you 
sad."  The  horse  shied  again,  and  I  clasped 
her  about  the  waist. 

"Don't!     I  believe  you  make  the  horse  do 


136  "  TURK  " 

that.  And  if  you  do  it  again  you'll  walk.  If 
you  want  to  grab  girls,  why  don't  you  go 
among  your  own  class?" 

This  sent  hot  blood  to  my  head.  "My  class 
is  as  good  as  yours,"  I  replied.  "My  people 
were  captains  in  the  Revolution.  They  didn't 
leave  me  money,  but  they  left  something  that 
makes  me  prouder — the  fact  that  they  were 
brave.  I  won't  ride  with  you." 

I  slid  off  the  horse.  "You  are  more  skittish 
than  the  horse,"  she  said.  "Come,  get  back 
up.  It's  a  good  ways  home,  and  the  road's 
muddy.  Here's  a  stump.  Get  on  it,  and 
I'll " 

"I  won't  ride  with  you." 

"Yes,  and  you'll  tell  father,  and  he'll  scold 
me." 

"Do  you  take  me  for  a  tattle-tale?" 

"Oh,  making  use  of  it,  are  you?  But  come 
on,  if  you're  coming." 

"I'm  not  coming.  I'd  swim  through  mud 
rather  than  ride  with  you." 

Cutting  through  a  nearer  way,  I  was  at  the 
gate  when  she  rode  up.  Without  a  word  I 
helped  her  down;  and  as  soon  as  we  came 
into  the  light,  she  made  a  mouth  at  me  and 


TOGETHER  ON  A  HORSE  137 

called  me  "Smarty."  And  that  night  so  com 
pletely  did  I  dismiss  her  from  my  mind,  that 
Amy's  book  was  read  and  her  candle  was 
burned  low. 

The  days  flew  fast,  for  with  me  it  was  a  sort 
of  vacation,  and  soon  came  the  time  for  Amy's 
departure.  To  the  great  seat  of  learning  her 
mother  was  to  accompany  her,  and  in  the 
family  barouche  I  was  to  drive  them  there. 
The  professor  did  not  waste  many  words  at 
the  parting.  He  told  his  daughter  that  it  was 
against  his  will  and  his  judgment,  and  huffed 
off  into  the  house.  Nan  rode  with  us  until 
her  mother  forced  her  to  get  out,  and  then  we 
drove  along  in  tears. 

It  was  nearly  sunset,  when  there  burst  upon 
me  a  sight  that  brought  tears  to  my  eyes — 
Old  Blood,  the  sacred  spot  of  this  whole 
earth.  There  was  the  old  log  house,  strong 
as  a  battlement,  the  little  graveyard  on  the 
hill,  and  the  majestic  whirl  of  water  gushing 
from  the  ground.  I  begged  my  mistress  to 
let  me  stay  awhile,  and  she  consented,  as  it 
was  not  much  further  to  the  inn  where  we 
were  to  put  up  for  the  night.  In  that  old 
graveyard  my  people  were  buried,  my  father 


138  "  TURK  " 

and  my  murdered  mother.  Rough  stones 
with  the  neighborhood  stonecutter's  lettering 
marked  the  graves.  Among  those  sleeping 
there,  how  few  had  died  in  the  natural  bed  of 
death!  I  could  recall  but  one,  a  little  child; 
yes,  one  other,  an  old  man  who  escaped  the 
early  storms  of  a  wild  country  to  die  at  ninety 
in  a  calm. 

The  door  of  the  old  house  was  locked;  but 
I  raised  a  window  and  entered.  Within,  it 
was  dark,  but  I  found  a  bit  of  candle  on  the 
master's  desk,  lighted  it,  went  to  my  old  bench 
in  a  corner,  and  sat  there  until  Mrs.  Emory 
called  me.  The  old  place  had  not  changed; 
my  oaken  seat  was  the  same,  and  still  as  of 
yore  one  leg  was  gone,  snatched  out,  I  remem 
bered,  by  one  of  the  Bryan  boys  to  crack  the 
head  of  Sandy  Tolliver. 

At  the  inn  where  we  stayed  there  had 
occurred  a  fight  between  the  Griffins  and  the 
Nesbitts,  the  first  or  possibly  the  second  "gen 
eral  engagement."  And  at  school  I  was  proud 
to  be  told  time  and  again  that  our  side  was 
the  winner,  counting  the  holding  of  the  ground 
but  not  the  number  of  killed  and  wounded. 
I  had  heard  my  Uncle  Gabe  say  that  my 


TOGETHER  ON  A  HORSE  139 

father  killed  a  Nesbitt  in  a  little  room  that 
had  a  red  sun  painted  on  the  plastered  wall, 
and  I  begged  the  landlord  to  let  me  make  my 
bed  there;  but  he  refused  until  I  gave  him  my 
reason,  and  then  he  bowed  to  me  and  called 
me  a  part  of  the  history  of  his  famous  house. 
So  in  that  room  I  slept,  but  did  not  dream  of 
battle;  I  thought  that  Nan,  in  silver  slippers, 
was  dancing  on  my  brow. 

The  remainder  of  the  journey  took  but  little 
more  than  half  of  the  next  day;  but  we 
remained  at  the  seminary  over  night,  greatly 
to  my  embarrassment,  for  the  girls  peeped  at 
me  from  behind  hall  doors  and  made  signs 
that  caused  laughter  at  my  expense.  Early 
in  the  morning  there  was  another  tearful  fare 
well,  and  sadly  Mrs.  Emory  sat  back  in  the 
vehicle,  not  speaking  until  we  must  have  been 
five  miles  on  our  homeward  road.  Then  she 
asked  me  if  I  were  happy.  Such  a  question 
had  never  before  been  put  to  me.  Happy!  I 
had  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  I  had 
never  known  but  one  Elysium,  and  that  was  a 
disgrace — the  time  when  with  Nick  I  viewed 
the  star-popping  heavens.  That  could  never 
be  again;  it  was  but  the  flashing  tinsel  that 


140  "  TURK  " 

meant  beggary  through  life  and  a  shameful 
death  at  last.  So  quickly  had  I  been  shunted 
off  upon  this  musing  that  I  had  not  answered 
Mrs.  Emory's  question,  and  she  repeated  it. 

"Happy,  did  you  say,  Ma'm?  Don't  believe 
I'd  know  how  to  be." 

"Oh,  but  you  mustn't  feel  that  way.  God 
grants  happiness  to  every  one  that  believes  in 
Him.  Don't  we  treat  you  well,  Turk?" 

"Yes,  Ma'm,  better  than  I  have  ever 
deserved." 

"You  mustn't  feel  that  way,  either.  Turk,  I 
believe  you  are  a  boy  of  strong  character. 
Some  people  think  you  homely,  but  I  don't." 

Ah,  unkind  kindness.  My  freckles  marked 
me  for  comment  and  for  ridicule.  I  expected 
no  compliments,  but  Mrs.  Emory's  "oneness" 
in  not  thinking  me  "homely"  hurt  worse  than 
if,  like  Nan,  she  had  mocked  me. 

Upon  arriving  at  home,  late  in  the  after 
noon,  we  found  the  professor  and  Mr.  Hoover 
hot  in  an  argument.  The  professor  made  a 
pretense  of  breaking  off,  when  the  vehicle 
drew  up  at  the  gate,  and  he  came  out,  but 
continued  to  talk  back  over  his  shoulder  at 
the  minister,  who  followed  him  part  way.  The 


TOGETHER  ON  A  HORSE  141 

learned  man  split  a  long  word  to  kiss  his  wife, 
and  led  her  to  the  house,  still  talking;  he 
shook  a  finger  at  the  preacher  to  emphasize  a 
new  point,  and  when  to  the  visitor  Mrs.  Emory 
began  to  speak  of  her  daughter,  the  professor 
broke  in  with  an  inquiry,  "Ah,  yes,  how  did 
you  leave  Amy?" 

"Oh,  my  dear,  I  am  astonished  that  you 
should  ask,"  she  answered,  turning  upon  him 
with  a  slight  bow  and  a  pickle  smile. 

"But  I  assert,"  declared  the  professor, 
speaking  to  Hoover,  "that  when  he  denounced 
Copernicus  he  forfeited  all  claim  to  philoso 
phy.  Bruno  would  not  have  accepted  him  as 
a  fellow;  and  your  assertion  that  he  furthered 
the  great  ends  of  Aristotle  is  far  from  true." 
And  then  he  began  to  wince.  His  wife's  sar 
casm  had  penetrated  at  last.  "Why,  Louise, 
you  do  me  a  great  wrong.  I  am  as  anxious 
about  our  daughter  as  you  are.  Mr.  Hoover 
and  I  were  discussing  something  of  most 
momentous  interest.  He  holds  that  Bacon — " 

"Oh,  hang  Bacon,"  said  Mrs.  Emory,  now 
laughing. 

"In  the  smoke  house,"  Nan  tripped  in,  with 
a  toss  of  her  midnight  head. 


142  "  TURK  " 

Depositing  in  the  house  some  bundles  that 
I  had  brought  from  the  barouche,  I  went  out 
to  unharness  the  horse.  Nan  came  along  to 
help  me,  she  said,  but,  in  fact,  to  hinder  me; 
for  when  the  vehicle  had  been  backed  under 
the  shed,  she  was  in  the  way  of  every  move  I 
made. 

With  her  fingers  crossed  and  held  before 
her  eyes,  she  said,  "Here's  the  way  you'll  look 
when  you're  in  jail."  She  seized  a  strap  that 
I  was  unbuckling.  "Let  me;  you  can't,"  she 
cried. 

How  brown  were  her  hands,  and  with  briar 
scratches  upon  them;  and  her  fingers,  god- 
artist  fancies  turned  to  human  flesh!  She 
touched  my  hand.  The  thrill  made  me  jump; 
and  when  she  asked  what  was  the  matter  I 
replied,  "I  thought  a  wasp  stung  me." 

I  asked  her  what  she  would  do  if  I  should 
snatch  her  hand  and  kiss  it,  and  she  said,  "I 
would  box  your  motley  jaws." 

Instead  of  making  me  angry  it  made  me 
laugh.  I  seized  her  hand  and  kissed  it;  and 
with  a  slap  she  made  my  ears  ring,  but  it  was 
a  thrilling  tune. 

"I'll  soon  be  seventeen,"  I  said. 


TOGETHER  ON  A  HORSE  143 

"What  of  that?"  she  replied.  "Once  we 
had  a  mule,  and  I  remember  hearing  father 
say  it  was  seventeen." 

"Let  me  unbuckle  that." 

"I  won't.  Get  away.  Whoa,  Tom."  How 
sweet  and  how  kindly  was  her  voice  when  she 
spoke  to  the  horse! 

"I  heard  some  one  say  you'd  never  make  a 
man  happy." 

"I'm  never  going  to  try." 

"But  sometime  there  might  come  along  a 
man  that  would  rather  be  miserable  with  you 
than  happy  with  any  one  else." 

"He'd  be  a  fool." 

"Yes,  that's  the  sort  of  a  man  to  love 
you." 

"And  what  sort  of  a  woman  would  it  be  to 
love  you?" 

"More  angel  than  human,  I  reckon." 

"No,  more  idiot  than  anything." 

"I  feel  like  I'm  going  to  kiss  your  hand 
again." 

"And  I  feel  like  I'm  going  to  hit  you  with 
something  harder  than  my  hand." 

"Now  that  Amy's  gone,  let  us  be  friends, 
won't  you?" 


144  "  TURK  " 

"I  could  never  be  friends  with  you.  Your 
people  killed  folks,  and  you  get  drunk." 

"If  you'll  promise  to  like  me,  I'll  promise 
never  to  drink  and  never  to  kill  anybody.  I'll 
let  everybody  run  over  me;  and  if  I  meet  Mose 
and  Tab  I'll  take  off  my  hat  and  bow  to  'em." 

''Like  you?  I  couldn't.  Why  do  you  want 
me  to?" 

"Because  it  makes  me — makes  me  suffer 
when  I  know  you  don't." 

"Then  you  are  going  to  be  like  the  poor  man 
that  keeps  a  tollgate  away  over  on  the  pike." 

"How  like  him?" 

"An  invalid  all  your  life." 

She  climbed  up  into  the  loft  and  threw 
down  fodder,  and  I  wished  that  she  might  fall, 
so  that  I  could  catch  her  and  convince  her 
that  I  had  saved  her  life.  I  held  up  my  hand 
to  help  her  down.  She  leaped  past  me.  I 
caught  at  her,  seized  her  skirt  and  tore  it. 
She  fell  upon  her  knees,  and  got  up  like  an 
angry  cat.  Her  mother  called.  She  went 
out,  I  following  her;  and  once  she  turned 
about,  hands  up,  fingers  crooked,  and  spat  at 
me.  She  was  a  cat 

At  the  supper  table  the  preacher  said  a  long 


TOGETHER  ON  A  HORSE  145 

grace,  and  fierce  argument  was  softened  down 
to  mild  discussion.  "Of  all -men  who  in  the 
past  attempted  to  explain  Shakespeare,"  said 
the  professor,  "your  great  man,  Samuel  John 
son,  was  the  worst  equipped  by  nature. 
Shakespeare  was  of  the  country,  while  John 
son  was  essentially  of  the  town.  He  hated 
the  country.  To  him  no  dale  could  compare 
with  Fleet  Street.  In  his  notes  on  Shake 
speare  he  is  constantly  hunting  for  an  oppor 
tunity  to  sneer  at  him.  He  fancied  himself — 
died  believing  himself  a  greater  man  than  the 
poet;  lamented,  like  a  cut-and-dried  school 
man,  Shakespeare's  lack  of  learning,  when  he 
ought  to  have  known  that  the  immortal  part 
of  the  bard,  those  golden  touches  of  nature, 
never  could  have  been  learned  at  a  university." 

Mr.  Hoover  stirred  his  coffee.  "Far  be  it 
from  me,"  he  said  with  the  solemnity  always 
appropriate  to  this  utterance,  "far  be  it  from 
me  to  detract  one  iota  from  the  accepted 
mouthpiece  of  all  humanity,  but 

"This  ham  was  mast-fed,"  Mrs.  Emory 
broke  in.  Nan  peeped  at  me  with  her  laugh 
ing  eye,  and  it  seemed  that  the  air  was  filled 
with  a  hushed  but  devilish  music. 


146  "  TURK  " 

"Very  delicious,  I  assure  you,"  replied  the 
preacher.  "As  I  was  saying,  far  be  it  from  me 
to  detract,  but,  although  Shakespeare  came 
near  it,  yet  no  mind  has  embraced  all  minds. 
Lope  De  Vega  wrote  some  fifteen  hundred 
dramas,  yet  no  one  will  assert  that  he  was  the 
entire  stage  of  Spain.  Johnson,  while  not 
essentially  a  poet,  and  by  no  means  a  drama 
tist " 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Emory,  "pass  Mr. 
Hoover  the  honey.  From  our  own  hives,  Mr. 
Hoover." 

"Yes,  very  delicious,  I  assure  you.  Buck 
wheat,  I  am  told,  makes  the  best  honey.  The 
red  clover,  so  beautiful  and  so  promising 
when  in  the  meadow,  offers  but  a  scant  har 
vest  for  the  honey  bee,  its — er — I  would  say 
its- " 

"Its  scoop,"  Nan  suggested. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  said  the  preacher,  smiling 
upon  her.  "Its  scoop  not  being  long  enough 
to  reach.  And  Cervantes  wrote  a  hundred  or 
so.  Humanity  is  intellectually,  if  not  morally, 
greater  than  any  one  man.  And  no  one  can 
deny  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  a  very  important 
part  of  humanity.  I " 


TOGETHER  ON  A  HORSE  147 

Some  one  at  the  door  called  out,  "Howdy, 
all  hands?" 

The  preacher  frowned,  and  Nick  Bowles 
came  slouching  into  the  room.  "Skuze  me 
for  upsettin'  things,"  he  said,  "but,  Mr. 
Hoover,  a  feller — gentleman  has  come  and 
wants  you  to  marry  him  an'  a  gal  that  he  has 
brought  with  him." 

The  preacher  departed  hastily,  leaving 
Nick  with  us.  They  were  not  put  to  the 
courtesy  of  asking  him  to  have  more  ham; 
for,  upon  the  moment  of  his  sitting  down, 
things  began  to  disappear.  The  professor 
and  his  wife  soon  made  their  excuses,  leaving 
to  Nan  and  me\  the  pleasure  of  entertaining 


the  visitor.  And  the  little  wretch  smirked 
'almost  in  his  face.  Confound  her,  she  asked 
him  why  he  had  not  come  to  see  her.  She 
honeyed  a  biscuit  and  put  it  on  his  plate.  She 
tucked  a  napkin  beneath  his  fuzzy  chin  and 
sat  back  to  admire  him. 

"This  here  honey's  good  stuff,"  said  Nick, 
and  to  me  her  smile  was  as  sickly-sweet  as  the 
juice  of  the  prickly  pear. 

"You  are  so  much  handsomer  since  you 
began  to  go  to  school,"  she  said,  and  Nick 


148  "  TURK  " 

smacked  his  mouth.  "And  Mr.  Hoover  says 
you  are  learning  so  fast."  What  a  truthless 
witch!  Hoover  had  not  mentioned  him. 
"And  he  says  you  are  going  to  make  a  fine 
preacher.  Won't  that  be  nice?  I  like  young 
preachers.  Tell  me  about  your  school.  You 
know  my  father  is  so  funny  about  schools. 
Somehow  he's  mad  at  education;  but  he's  got 
no  use  for  ignorance,  either.  Mother  teaches 
me,  and  after  all,  she  is  the  best  teacher  in 
the  whole  country.  Have  you  a  good 
teacher?" 

"Tolor'ble.  He  chaws  good  tobacker,  an' 
he  can  spit  ten  feet  or  mo'  when  he's  pushed. 
He's  set  me  to  cipherin'  now." 

"Has  he?  Isn't  that  nice?  And  pretty  soon 
you'll  know  all  about  arithmetic.  Boys  that 
don't  know  arithmetic  don't  know  anything, 
do  they?  And  are  you  in  love  with  any  of  the 
girls  yet?" 

"No,  don't  believe  I  am." 

"But  some  of  them  must  be  very  pretty." 

"Yes,  puttier  than  a  circus  wagon.  But  I 
ain't  got  much  time  for  'em." 

"That's  right.  You  pay  attention  to  your 
books,  and  when  the  time  comes,  why,  you'll — 


TOGETHER  ON  A  HORSE  149 

yes'm,  I'm  coming."  Her  mother  had  called 
her.  She  smiled  at  Nick,  and  halting  at 
the  door  she  threw  a  kiss  at  him  and  ran 
away. 

"I've  noticed,"  said  the  yellow  gourmand, 
"that  fellers  what  goes  to  school  are  a  good 
deal  mo'  stronger  among  the  gals  than  fellers 
what  don't.  Ever  notice  it?" 

"I  noticed  some  time  ago  you  were  about 
the  biggest  liar  I  ever  saw,  and  now  I  notice 
you're  a  fool." 

"Ain't  gittin'  jealous,  are  you?  'Lowed  from 
what  you  said,  you  was  in  love  with  the  other 
one.  Don't  want  'em  both,  do  you?  Come, 
split  up  and  be  fair.  Don't  love  this  one  in 
particular,  do  you?" 

"I  hate  her  when  it  comes  to  that." 

"Well,  let  it  come  to  that,  then,  an'  don't 
think  no  mo'  about  it.  Is  that  her  a  singin'? 
Bet  she's  singin'  to  me."  Mrs.  Emory  came 
in.  "Ma'm,  this  is  the  best  meal  of  vidults 
I've  had  in  a  year.  Bet  you  made  this  here 
coffee  yo'se'f."  And  she  smiled  on  him  and 
asked  him  to  have  another  cup.  Or  was  it 
that  now  every  woman  who  looked  upon  this 
lout  appeared  to  me  to  smile?  She  put  away 


150  "  TURK  " 

some  silverware  and  went  out.  "She'd  make 
a  feller  a  good  mammy-in-law,"  said  Nick. 

"She's  one  of  the  best  women  in  the  world, 
and  if  you  speak  of  her  that  way  again,  I'll  hit 
you  with  the  first  thing  I  can  get  hold  of/'  I 
replied. 

"What,  ain't  in  love  with  the  whole  family, 
are  you?  Well,  whut  sort  of  mammy-in-law 
you  reckon  I'd  want  but  the  best?  Say,  I've 
got  a  bottle  hid  out  under  the  straw-stack. 
Feller  brought  it  from  the  saloon  where  old 
Ridley  died.  Must  be  some  of  the  same  that 
made  him  die  in  joy;  for  they  say  he  died  a 
dancin'.  Come,  go  with  me,  and  we'll  waller 
in  the  straw  and  be  the  rulers  of  the  earth. 
Wouldn't  you  ruther  live  two  hours  sho'  'nuff 
than " 

"Hush!"  I  commanded,  clutching  a  corner 
of  the  table  and  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

"Oh,  you  want  to,  for  I  can  see  yo'  mouth  a 


waterin'.' 


I  was  so  enraged  that  I  could  have]  brained 
him;  but  he  had  told  the  truth.  In  my  mouth 
a  hot  water  had  risen,  and  through  my  lips  it 
stewed.  The  word  thirst  could  not  express 
my  condition.  It  was  a  sinking,  a  trembling, 


TOGETHER  ON  A  HORSE  151 

a  despairing  want.  I  heard  him  say  that  no 
one  could  ever  find  it  out,  that  once  more  we 
would  drink  and  then  quit  forever. 

Nan  came  into  the  room.  She  looked  at 
me,  ready  to  smirk  upon  Nick,  but  suddenly 
her  countenance  changed.  "Are  you  sick?" 
she  asked  of  me.  "You  look  like  a  ghost. 
Mother,  come  here." 

Through  the  door  I  darted,  and  down  to  the 
spring  I  ran,  but  to  look  upon  the  water  dark 
ling  in  the  twilight  was  chilling  to  me,  and  I 
turned  away.  In  vain  I  strove  to  recall  the 
preacher's  words;  in  my  mind  they  were  a 
cold  and  meaningless  jumble,  but  in  my  ears 
the  words  of  my  tempter  rang  like  silver,  and 
armed  with  a  stout  stick  I  stood  ready  to 
strike  him  if  he  should  pursue  me.  He  did 
not,  and  in  the  woods  I  wandered  till  the 
moon  was  up,  till  a  midnight  cock  away  over 
at  old  Champ's  began  to  crow,  and  then  I 
went  to  the  house.  On  my  box  there  was  no 
book,  no  candle;  the  angel  to  my  better  wants 
was  gone. 


CHAPTER   X 

A  KNOCK  AT  THE  DOOR 

HE  NEXT  morning  I  arose  weak 
in  one  way,  but  strong  in  another. 
The  fight  had  laid  a  tax  upon  the 
flesh,  but  had  built  up  the  soul. 
Had  I  told  the  professor  of  my  trial,  he  would 
have  hooted  at  it.  Those  who  have  not  gone 
through  the  strain  cannot  feel  its  soreness; 
and  the  loathing  in  which  whisky  is  held  by 
most  of  the  virtuous  renders  them  but  ill 
judges  of  men  born  in  the  moral  dark  of  the 
moon.  Indeed,  it  is  not  a  question  of  moral 
ity,  but  of  a  sort  of  physical  weakness.  Some 
men  would  be  other  than  themselves;  they 
become  tired  of  themselves.  This  more  often 
applies  to  the  intellectual  than  to  the  foolish; 
and  it  is  the  reason  why  men  accounted  wise 
are  sometimes  given  to  drink.  But  above  all 
there  is  a  sort  of  passion,  with  the  tinder  pre 
pared  if  not  set  off  by  heredity;  and  let  him 
who  has  a  strong  will  thank  God  for  it. 

At  the  breakfast  table  that  morning,  and  it 
152 


A  KNOCK  AT  THE  DOOR  153 

was  a  Sunday,  Mrs.  Emory  astonished  me  by 
remarking  that  she  would  not  go  to  church, 
that,  indeed,  she  did  not  wish  ever  again  to 
hear  Mr.  Hoover  preach.  The  professor  sat 
back  and  looked  at  her. 

"Walter,  I  mean  what  I  say.  Last  night  in 
his  argument  with  you  he  sent  infants  to  hell, 
and  my  intelligence — my  mercy  will  not  sub 
scribe  to  such  a  doctrine.  Why,  if  I  believed 
that,  I  should  hate  God." 

The  professor  threw  up  his  hands,  as  if  to 
shield  himself  from  some  blow.  "Louise!"  he 
cried. 

"Oh,  I  know  that  I  should  be  meek,  in  the 
most  approved  fashion  of  the  South;  I  know 
that  it  is  thought  charming  in  a  young  woman 
to  have  a  sort  of  impertinent  mind,  but  that  a 
married  woman  must  think  through  her  hus 
band — I  know  all  that,  and ' 

'Louise,  you  have  a  soul  to  save!" 

"Ah,  that  old  worm-eaten  club.  And  if  I 
have  a  soul,  Walter,  I  ought  to  have  a  mind. 
If  I  haven't  a  mind,  my  soul  ought  to  be  saved 
out  of  mere  pity.  If  I  have  a  mind,  let  me 
speak  it  and  follow  it  when  I  feel  it  to  be  right." 

"Ah,  when  you  feel  it  to  be  right.     You— 


154  '  TURK  " 

but  have  not  teachers  been  sent  among  us 
and-  -" 

"A  fig  for  your  teachers.  When  it  comes  to 
the  soul  and  conscience,  I  know  as  much  as 
Mr.  Hoover  or  any  other  man.  I'm  not  going 
to  hear  him  preach." 

"But,  my  dear,  what  shall  I  tell  him?" 

"Let  me  tell  him,"  Nan  cried. 

"Yes,  let  Nan  tell  him.  She  is  capable 
of  it." 

Nan  was  the  professor's  favorite.  He  had 
spoiled  her  with  indulgence,  and  it  was  rare 
that  he  took  her  to  task;  but  now  he  turned 
upon  her  a  cold  and  reproving  eye.  "Little 
one,  no  one  has  asked  for  your  assistance. 
Keep  still." 

"Keep  still!  Why,  Walter,  she  is  not  sup 
posed  to  keep  still  until  she  is  married.  Then 
she  may  become  a  smooth,  amiable  and  placid 
nobody,  like  the  majority  of  the  women  in  the 
South." 

Mrs.  Emory's  eyes  flashed,  and  she  was 
handsome.  How  often  had  that  fine  spirit 
quieted  itself  down  from  just  rebellion!  How 
many  times  had  she  mutely  sat,  listening  to 
unchallenged  error  and  vicious  narrowness! 


A  KNOCK  AT  THE  DOOR  155 

"My  dear,"  said  the  professor,  rolling  a  bit 
of  bread  between  his  thumb  and  finger,  "I 
hardly  know  what  to  say.  You  have  so  taken 
me  by  surprise  that — why,  come  in,  Mr.  Jones." 

There  was  old  Champ,  kicking  the  mud  off 
his  shoes;  he  stamped  to  the  right  and  the  left, 
came  in,  with  one  foot  raking  back  the  mud 
that  had  followed  him,  bowed  to  Mrs.  Emory, 
gave  the  professor  a  grip,  squeezed  Nan's 
hands,  and  coming  round  laid  hold  of  my 
shoulders  and  gave  them  a  shaking.  He  had 
been  to  breakfast,  but  he  sat  down  to  drink  a 
cup  of  coffee,  which  he  did  at  a  gulp,  and 
putting  the  cup  down  said  that  he  was  out 
looking  for  an  old  nag  that  had  jumped  the 
fence  sometime  during  the  night.  "I  wanted 
to  go  over  to  hear  Hoover  to-day,"  said  he. 
"Met  Sol  Morris  yesterday,  and  he  told  me 
they  looked  for  a  doctrinal  sermon.  Hoover's 
not  my  sort,  and  I  thought  I'd  go  over  and 
after  services  have  a  tilt  with  him." 

"How  is  your  corn?"  the  professor  inquired, 
and  Nan,  with  her  face  below  the  table,  began 
to  titter. 

"Pretty  fair,  what  there  is  of  it — didn't  put 
in  much.  Sol  said  they  expected  to  get  it  raw 


156  '  TURK  " 

to-day.  Lately  there  has  been  a  good  deal  of 
talk  about  infant  damna " 

"I  think  that's  your  horse  out  yonder,"  said 
the  professor.  "No,  it's  a  cow." 

"He  may  be  down  in  our  pasture,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Emory. 

"I'll  go  over  pretty  soon  and  look.  Sol 
said " 

"You've  got  some  prize  pumpkins,"  put  in 
the  professor. 

"No,  the  corn  shaded  them  too  much. 
Sol " 

"I'll  go  with  you  when  you  are  ready,"  said 
the  professor. 

"All  right,  plenty  of  time.  I  don't  get  out 
to  church  very  often;  and  the  more  I  keep 
myself  shut  in,  the  more  I'm  worried  with  the 
narrowness  of  the  world  when  I  do  get  out. 
Why,  to  hear  'em  talking  religion  at  almost 
every  gathering,  you'd  think  it  was  a  new 
thing  and  had  just  been  put  on  trial  in  the 
community.  The  other  d,ay  while  I  was  at 
work,  a  stranger  rode  up  to  the  fence  and 
called  out,  'Say,  there,  what  do  you  believe?' 
I  told  him  I  believed  he  was  a  fool,  and  he 
didn't  like  it  much.  Well,  we  scuffled  a  little, 


A  KNOCK  AT  THE  DOOR  157 

and  while  I  was  helping  him  get  his  clothes 
together,  I  found  out  that  what  he  meant  was 
whether  or  not  I  believed  in  infant  damna 
tion." 

"How  long  have  you  been  Irving  there?"  the 
professor  asked,  and  Nan  cross-barred  her 
eyes  with  her  fingers  and  looked  at  me. 

"I  told  him  that  if  he  believed  that  sort  of 
doctrine,  he  had  come  to  the  right  place,  and 
I  cuffed  him.  and  at  it  we  went  again,  and 
before  it  was  through  with,  I  changed  his 
countenance  if  I  didn't  alter  his  belief.  How 

long  have  I  lived  there?  Oh,  ever  since " 

His  voice  failed,  his  last  word  seeming  to  fall 
dead  from  his  lips.  He  got  up,  sniffing,  and  I 
knew  that  the  lime  smell  was  upon  him. 

"I'm  quite  sure  there  is  your  horse,"  said 
the  professor,  and  it  was,  but  the  old  man 
gave  no  heed;  he  went  out  stumbling,  passed 
the  horse  without  taking  notice  of  him  and 
took  the  shortest  cut  for  the  woods. 

"Why,  what  could  have  been  the  matter 
with  him?"  Mrs.  Emory  wondered,  and  the 
professor  shook  his  head.  "They  tell  me  he 
is  queer." 

"At  any  rate,  he  doesn't  believe  in  infant — " 


158  "  TURK  " 

"In  that,  my  dear,  I  acknowledge  he  is  not 
queer,"  said  the  professor.  She  had  won  and 
at  once  she  became  again  the  meek,  say-noth 
ing  wife.  We  did  not  go  to  church  that  day, 
but  late  in  the  afternoon  we  heard  from  the 
sermon. 

Old  Horner  rode  up  to  the  gate,  and  seized 
with  fear  I  ran  out  to  beg  him  to  say  nothing 
about  my  confession.  There  was  no  time  to 
say  more,  for  the  professor  followed  me,  and 
while  I  was  tying  the  horse  he  conducted  the 
distiller  into  the  house.  When  I  returned, 
Horner  was  talking  about  the  sermon. 
Eagerly  they  listened,  as  if  he  had  brought 
news  from  a  battle. 

"It  was  a  doctrine  sermon  sure  enough,"  he 
said.  "Nobody  went  out,  but  many  a  head 
came  away  shakin',  and  the  opinion  is  he's 
goin'  to  have  a  putty  hard  pull  in  buildin'  up 
the  church.  But  it  wa'n't  altogether  about  the 
infants,  for  that  was  to  be  expected,  bein' 
blow'd  in  the  bottle.  He  let  slip  somethin' 
about  slavery,  and  then  there  was  coughin' 
and  the  clearin'  of  throats." 

"About  slavery!"  cried  the  professor.  "I 
didn't  know  he  had  the  valor." 


A  KNOCK  AT  THE  DOOR  159 

"The  what,  sir?"  demanded  old  Horner. 

"The  courage,"  said  the  professor. 

"Sir,"  exclaimed  Horner,  "you  may  call  it 
courage,  but  there  are  in  this  neighborhood  a 
good  many  folks  that  will  call  it  a  crime.  And 
while  I'm  about  it,  I'd  like  to  give  you  a  little 
advice.  Keep  your  mouth  shut  on  that  sub 
ject,  if  you  don't  want  people  to  ask  what's 
the  matter  with  it.  Sir,  I  wish  you  good- 
day." 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  until  the  old  fellow 
had  mounted  his  horse,  and  then  as  we  all  of 
us  were  looking  after  him,  Mrs.  Emory  re 
marked:  "That  will  be  the  end  of  Mr.  Hoover 
in  this  community." 

"Ah,"  replied  the  professor,  "but  it  will  not 
be  the  end  of  his  principles.  They  may  refuse 
to  hear  him  or  they  may  put  him  in  jail,  as 
they  are  now  doing  men  in  Illinois,  but  they 
cannot " 

"Walter,"  she  broke  in  with  a  gesture  at 
me — a  gesture  made  only  with  her  eyes. 

The  professor  turned  to  me.  "Turk,  if 
there  should  be  a  war  between  the  North  and 
the  South,  which  side  would  you  fight  for?" 

"The  South,  sir,"  I  answered. 


160  '"  TURK  " 

"What,  poverty-stricken  as  you  are?  What 
would  you  have  to  gain?" 

"My  people  all  came  from  South  Carolina," 
I  replied,  and  in  my  soul  I  felt  that  this  was  a 
scythe-stroke  argument  that  cut  down  equally 
the  dried  and  the  green  grasses  of  opposition; 
but  the  professor  smiled  pityingly  and  replied, 
"And  in  that  will  lie  the  death  of  a  hundred 
thousand  Southern  fools.  Go  out  and  look 
after  the  horses." 

Depending  from  a  limb  of  the  great  oak 
tree  in  the  front  yard,  was  a  grape-vine  swing 
with  a  notched  board  fitted  in  the  loop,  and 
upon  returning  from  the  barn,  in  the  glow  of 
the  sunset,  I  found  Nan  swinging,  a  sight  not 
unusual;  but  now  on  her  face  was  a  new 
expression.  Or  was  it  but  the  light  of  the 
dying  sun  blending  with  the  light  of  her 
countenance?  Restrained  by  a  spirit  of 
inquiry,  I  halted,  gazing  at  her,  and  she 
resented  my  scrutiny  with  the  making  of  a 
mouth  at  me — a  rosebud  bursting — and  de 
manded  an  explanation  of  my  impudence. 

A  boy's  awkwardness  may  explain  his 
embarrassment;  but  no  words  he  can  employ 
will  grace  an  impertinence.  I  gazed  at  her  as 


"1    FOUND    NAN     SWINGING* 


A  KNOCK  AT  THE  DOOR  161 

she  now  stood  with  her  arms  about  the  vine, 
her  feet  firmly  planted  on  the  ground  worn 
smooth  of  grass.  Could  so  divine  a  light  illu 
mine  the  face  of  a  girl  so  wanting  in  human 
kindness?  Was  her  soul  so  independent  and 
apart  from  her  mundane  nature  as  not  to 
influence  her  tongue  and  her  actions  toward 
one  who  she  must  have  seen  was  suffering? 

"What  are  you  gazing  at  me  for?" 

"I  thought  something  in  your  eye  told  me 
to  stop  and  look  at  you,"  was  my  answer. 

"Something  in  my  eye?  A  piece  of  bark 
from  the  grape-vine,"  she  said,  looking 
upward. 

She  possessed  that  lying  quality  that  made 
of  her  something  of  a  humorist.  Even  her 
seriousness  was  an  exaggeration.  She  was  a 
picture  drawn  with  swift  strokes,  graceful  in 
violation  of  art.  I  remembered  hearing  an 
old  man  remark,  in  speaking  of  a  woman; 
"She  has  been  a  life  study  to  me,"  and  I  won 
dered  if  fortune  or  rather  misfortune  would 
decree  that  during  all  of  my  life  Nan  should 
be  my  study.  Amy  was  a  student  and  knew 
things  which  one  expected  that  she  would 
know.  Nan  was  a  skimmer  of  books  and 


162  4  TURK  " 

knew  that  which  awakened  surprise;    but   in 
skimming  did  she  not  harvest  the  cream? 

Upon  the  fields  browned  by  the  sapping  sun, 
the  dusk  was  settling.  The  professor  came  to 
the  door  of  the  "big"  room  and  told  us  to 
come  in  to  prayers.  Nan  laughed,  and  I 
laughed,  too;  but  when  I  did,  she  frowned  a 
darker  brown  than  the  dun-colored  air.  Pray 
ers!  What  was  it  that  had  so. moved  the  head 
of  the  household?  This  was  the  first  time 
since  my  coming  that  the  evening  was  sancti 
fied  by  prayer.  Beside  an  old  horse-hair  sofa 
the  professor  knelt,  his  wife  near  with  her 
arms  upon  a  chair.  Nan  waited  for  me  to 
kneel,  biding  the  time  of  my  embarrassment, 
for  one  unaccustomed  to  praying  goes  about 
it  awkwardly.  Somehow  I  managed  to  get 
down  upon  my  knees,  and  a  cat  came  out 
from  a  corner  and  began  to  rub  against  me. 
I  heard  Nan  titter,  and  shut  my  eyes,  but  then 
I  jumped.  Had  the  cat  bitten  me?  I  looked 
up  and  saw  that  Nan  had  her  face  devotion- 
ally  buried  in  her  hands,  but  a  pin  gleamed 
between  her  fingers;  and  I  knew  that  she  was 
the  cat  that  had  bitten  me.  In  his  petition 
the  professor  did  not  ask  the  Lord  to  sift  His 


A  KNOCK  AT  THE  DOOR  .          163 

blessings  broadcast  over  the  earth.  He 
begged  that  soon  might  come  the  time  when 
the  sword  of  just  wrath,  stripped  of  its  too- 
long-sheathing  scabbard,  would  flash  in  the 
eyes  of  men  who  bought  and  sold  human  flesh 
and  blood. 

Arising,  he  fixed  his  schoolmaster  eye  on 
me  and  said,  "Turk,  I  wish  to  make  a  Chris 
tian  of  you,"  and  then  from  Nan  there  came  a 
laughter-scream. 

"Why,  father,  how  can  you  make  a  Chris 
tian  out  of  a  Turk?" 

It  was  his  habit  to  reprove  her,  but  with 
such  mildness  as  to  give  occasion  for  repeated 
offense;  but  now  he  was  severe.  He  stormed 
at  her  with  such  loss  of  temper  that  his  wife 
spoke  up: 

"Why,  Waiter,  you  are  forgetting  yourself." 

"My  dear,  I  am  not.  This  child  has  been 
permitted  to  romp  over  us  until  she  has  for 
gotten  all  duty.  Nan,  go  to  bed." 

For  her  that  was  severe  punishment,  as  she 
was  often  the  last  to  go  to  bed  and  the  first  to 
get  up.  Her  mother  began  to  plead  for  her; 
and  I  am  sure  the  professor  would  have  with 
drawn  his  mandate  if  Nan  had  shown  sign  of 


164  "TURK" 

repentance;  but  she  didn't.  She  took  hold  o[ 
the  brass  knob  of  the  stairway  door,  made  us 
a  bow,  and  was  gone,  and  out  of  the  room  a 
sullen  light  seemed  to  go  with  her;  but  sud 
denly  there  shone  down  a  bright  light,  and 
looking  up  I  saw  that  without  noise  she  had 
opened  the  door  again  and  was  looking  down 
upon  us.  But  neither  the  professor  nor  his 
wife  saw  the  light,  and  slowly  it  was  extin 
guished — she  had  withdrawn  her  face  and  had 
shut  the  door. 

Not  knowing  how  often  prayers  might  be 
repeated  when  once  they  were  begun  in  a 
family  circle,  I  inquired  of  the  professor  if  he 
were  going  to  pray  again,  and  his  wife  shed 
upon  my  ignorance  a  kindly  smile;  but  he  did 
not  appear  pleased  and,  I  believe,  would  have 
said  something  to  show  his  impatience,  but 
just  at  that  moment  there  came  a  quick 
knocking  at  the  outer  door. 

"Coming,"  cried  the  professor,  taking  the 
candle  from  the  mantelpiece.  But  the  knock 
ing  was  repeated,  and  a  voice  out  in  the  dark 
ness  cried,  "For  God's  sake  open  the  door." 


CHAPTER    XI 

THEY  HAD  COME  FOR  HIM 

HE  PROFESSOR  opened  the  door, 
and  in  rushed  Mr.  Hoover,  bare  of 
head  and  with  his  clothes  tbrn  by 
brambles.  Before  offering  any  ex 
planation  of  his  frightening  appearance,  he 
begged  the  professor  for  the  Lord's  sake  to 
shut  the  door  and  to  put  out  the  light,  and 
with  that  he  puffed  out  the  candle  himself.  It 
is  hard  enough  to  soothe  a  frightened  man  in 
the  light  and  almost  impossible  in  the  dark; 
for  to  assure  one  that  there  is  no  danger  we 
must  employ  manner  and  countenance.  So 
the  professor,  calling  on  his  wife  to  fetch  a 
match,  muttered  aimlessly  until  the  candle 
was  relighted,  and  then  inquired,  "Whose 
mare's  dead?" 

This  struck  me  as  being  a  most  foolish 
remark  for  a  wise  man,  upon  an  occasion  of 
such  strain  and  expectancy;  and  it  was  not 
till  years  afterward  that  I  learned  that  he  had 

quoted  the   Fat  Knight  who  thus  had  cried 

165 


166  "TURK" 

out  upon  entering  the  precincts  of  a  broil  in 
the  street. 

"Walter,"  said  Mrs.  Emory,  "don't  be  rude." 
She  was  as  ignorant  as  I  concerning  this  quo 
tation;  but  the  preacher  was  not,  for,  leaning 
against  the  wall  and  still  panting  from  his 
headlong-run  through  the  thickets,  he  replied, 
"No  Fang  and  Quickly  suit  presses  me,  Mr. 
Emory.  I  have  run  for  my  life." 

I  wondered  why  a  man  so  scared  and  so 
short  of  breath  did  not  tell  what  was  the  mat 
ter  rather  than  to  waste  his  words  with  so 
weak  and  foolish  a  speech;  but  the  professor 
understood  him. 

"Ah,"  said  he,  '  your  words  in  church — the 
mob.  I  see.  But  come  in  and  sit  down. 
Turk,  get  down  that  shotgun.' 

We  went  into  the  sitting-room.  The  min 
ister  sat  down  with  his  hands  gripped  upon 
the  candlestand.  I  stood  near  with  the  gun, 
sentinel  over  his  story,  and  we  waited  for  him 
to  proceed,  the  professor  in  the  rocking-chair 
leaning  forward,  and  his  wife  standing  with  her 
arm  resting  high  upon  the  mantelpiece.  The 
stair  door  slightly  creaked,  and  the  black  eye 
of  Nan  shot  its  spears  of  light  into  the  room. 


THEY  HAD  COME  FOR  HIM          167 

This  was  the  story:  The  minister  had  left 
the  church,  more  than  half  inclined  to  believe 
that  he  had  not  been  wise;  still  there  had 
been  no  outbreak.  But  during  the  drive 
home  the  farmer  with  whom  he  lived  did  not 
speak  to  him,  and  when  they  had  drawn  up  at 
the  yard  gate  the  farmer  said: 

"This  is  the  last  time  I'll  hear  you  preach, 
and  more  than  that,  I  think  you  can  find 
another  place  better  suited  to  your  nigger- 
lovin'  idee.  So  pack  up  your  duds  and  get  out." 

It  was  no  time  to  talk  over  the  matter;  for 
the  farmer  swore,  although  a  member  of  the 
church,  and  this  was  taken  by  the  preacher  as 
a  hint  too  broad  to  be  mistaken.  So  he  went 
into  the  house  and  began  to  pack  his  books. 
Many  of  the  volumes  were  precious,  and 
therefore  were  not  to  be  thrown  roughly  into 
a  box;  these  lectures  of  Phillips  and  the 
wrathful  tirades  of  Garrison  were  not  neck- 
broken  criminals  harshly  to  be  coffined;  so 
the  work  was  done  with  respectful  delibera 
tion.  And  there,  too,  was  a  portrait  of  old 
Macaulay,  slavery-hating  father  of  the  great 
historian;  and  that  must  be  decently  wrapped 
in  muslin.  As  with  strips  of  cloth  the 


168  '  TURK  " 

preacher  was  mummying  Mr.  Macaulay,  there 
came  a  shout  at  the  gate.  Horses  were  heard 
trampling,  and  there  was  a  sharp  cry  of 
"Whoa!"  The  riders  evidently  had  reached 
their  destination.  The  preacher  halted  in  his 
work  and  stood  listening  with  a  ribbon  of 
muslin  in  his  hand. 

He  heard  the  farmer  go  out. 

"Who  is  it?" 

"Some  of  the  boys." 

"What  do  you  want,  boys?" 

"Want  you,  if  you  try  to  protect  him." 

"Catch  me  protectin'  him.  Think  I'd  do 
such  a  thing  as  that?  Come  in  and  help  your 
selves  to  him." 

"All  right.  Got  a  barrel  we  can  tie  him 
over?" 

"Got  a  tub  I  scald  hogs  in." 

"That'll  do.     Get  down,  boys." 

This  little  idiomatic  conversation  was  all 
that  the  preacher  heard.  He  went  through 
the  window,  and  scandalous  report  said  that 
for  more  than  a  mile  he  carried  the  window 
sash  with  him,  about  his  neck  like  a  yoke, 
though  at  a  later  and  a  quieter  day  conserva 
tism  modified  the  report. 


THEY  HAD  COME  FOR  HIM          169 

"Well,"  inquired  the  professor,  "do  you 
know  whether  or  not  they  have  followed 
you?" 

"Of  course  they  have.  I  heard  their  horses 
galloping." 

"But  if  you  can  outrun  a  horse,  you  are  all 
right." 

We  used  to  say  that  the  professor  had  a 
sawdust  idea  of  humor.  The  minister  winced, 
and  the  professor  turned  his  face  aside  to 
laugh.  He  couldn't  help  it.  The  thought  of 
subjecting  a  friend  even  in  principle  to  a  whip 
ping  over  a  tub  used  to  scald  hogs  in  was 
upsetting  to  his  dignity.  Nan's  eye  was  blaz 
ing  with  laughter,  and  Mrs.  Emory  herself 
strove  to  look  sadder  than  she  felt.  The  pro 
fessor  turned  about  with  as  grave  a  face  as  I 
have  ever  seen,  and  opened  his  mouth  to  say 
something,  but  his  countenance  flew  into 
mirthful  cracks. 

"Mr.  Emory,"  said  the  preacher,  "this  is 
nothing  to  laugh  at." 

"Laugh  at,  sir!  Laugh  at  such  distress  and 
in  my  own  house,  too?  I  assure  you  I  am — 
am  most  properly  indignant.  But  the  idea  of 
that  farmer  saying,  'Help  yourselves  to  him!' 


170  '  TURK  " 

It  was  most  idiomatic,  I  assure  you,  and  I  have 
always  held  that  the  idiom  should  be  pre 
served.  As  long  as  a  language  has  an  idiom, 
it  is  growing,  and— 

"Hush,  I  hear  something,"  commanded  the 
preacher. 

The  professor,  now  ashamed  of  his  mirth, 
snatched  the  gun  from  me  and  stood  near  the 
door,  while  Mrs.  Emory  took  two  derringers 
from  a  shell-covered  box  on  the  mantelpiece, 
handed  one  to  the  minister,  and  cocking  the 
other  one  remarked,  "We  will  protect  you, 
sir." 

Mr.  Hoover  arose  with  a  bow  that  did  him 
credit.  "Madam,  I  thank  you.  It  were  worth 
this  ignominy,  to  be  defended  by  so  noble  a 
matron." 

That  was  high  talk,  it  tingled  me,  and  for 
hours  I  could  have  listened  to  it;  but  where 
was  my  weapon?  Was  I,  sole  remnant  of  a 
historic  feud,  to  stand  there  like  the  proverbial 
poor  boy  at  a  frolic?  I  wished  for  the  words 
^f  the  preacher,  that  I  might  say  something 
heroic;  but  I  could  not  summon  them  out  of 
the  dark  caverns  of  my  ancestral  ignorance. 
Yet,  hungry  for  a  part  in  a  battle  and  regard- 


THEY  HAD  COME  FOR  HIM          171 

less  of  causes  or  of  consequences,  I  begged 
Mrs.  Emory  to  let  me  take  her  pistol. 

"But,"  broke  in  the  professor,  "you  are  not 
an  abolitionist  and  this  is  a  fight  against 
slavery." 

"That  makes  no  difference,"  I  cried.  "I  am 
in  this  house,  and  if  anybody  comes  to  break 
into  it  I  ought  to  be  in  the  fight." 

"Louise,  the  boy's  argument  is  good," 
replied  the  professor.  "Give  him  the  pistol." 

She  handed  it  to  me,  and  in  an  ecstasy  I 
kissed  its  broad  mouth.  Against  my  temple  I 
pressed  it  and  seemed  to  feel  a  pulse  beating 
in  unison  with  my  own.  I  cocked  it,  and  see 
ing  that  on  the  nipple  there  was  no  cap,  anx 
iously  inquired  of  Mrs.  Emory  if  it  were 
loaded. 

"No;  but  it  will  do  to  frighten  them  with," 
she  said,  and  at  this  very  moment  there  came 
a  rap  upon  the  door. 

The  professor  stepped  back,  cocked  his  gun, 
and  demanded,  "Who's  there?" 

I  leaped  to  his  side,  humiliated  with  an 
empty  weapon,  but  raising  it  ready  to  strike. 
"Who's  there?"  repeated  the  professor,  and  a 
thin  voice  answered,  "It's  me." 


172  "  TURK  " 

"Who's  me?     Speak  out." 

"Am  speakin'  out,  as  you  won't  let  me  in." 

"It's  Nick!"  exclaimed  the  preacher. 

The  professor  opened  the  door,  and  Nick 
stalked  in.  "Howdy  do,  all  hands?  Mr. 
Hoover,  them  fellers  from  over  the  creek 
sent  me  to  tell  you  they  wa'n't  goin'  to  hurt 
you.  They  made  it  up  to  skeer  you,  an'  I 
reckon  they've  done  it." 

"Villains!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hoover,  "I'll  have 
them  put  in  jail." 

"Well,  that's  what  they  told  me  to  tell  you. 
Lot  of  cowardly  whelps.  Me  and  Turk  could 
take  a  couple  of  corn-cobs  and  run  the  whole 
passul  of  'em  into  the  river.  Folks,  I  ain't 
had  no  supper  and,  while  my  mind's  on  it, 
I'd  like  to  have  a  bite  to  eat." 

And  thus  it  was  all  a  rough  joke,  but  to  the 
good  man's  reputation  more  harm  was  done 
than  if  it  had  been  an  executed  reality.  The 
fact  that  he  ran  away  lightened  the  weight  of 
his  arguments,  and  the  report  that  he  had 
carried  away  the  window  sash  plucked  all 
solemnity  from  his  texts. 


CHAPTER   XII 

HELD  HER  HAND 

N  ATTEMPT  was  made  to  punish 
the  marauders;  but  the  officers  of 
the  law  winked  at  one  another  and 
nothing  was  done.  Mr.  Hoover 
wrote  a  long  piece  to  be  printed  in  a  church 
paper  and  came  over  to  read  it  to  us.  I 
thought  that  it  must  have  great  weight  with 
the  reading  public,  for  I  could  scarcely  under 
stand  a  word  of  it.  I  was  never  able,  how 
ever,  to  determine  the  effect  wrought  by  his 
pen,  but  I  know  that  his  congregation  dwin 
dled  until  he  was  forced  to  console  himself 
with  a  text  which  promises  blessing  to  a  few 
that  gather  together. 

About  this  time  there  came  another  season 
of  hard  work,  the  cutting  and  housing  of  the 
tobacco.  If  I  had  an  enemy  and  hated  him 
almost  to  the  point  of  letting  the  blood  out  of 
his  heart,  I  could  wish  him  no  greater  punish 
ment  than  a  sentence  to  the  labor  of  cutting 

tobacco.    The  stalk  and  the  leaves  are  covered 

173 


174  "TURK" 

with  a  thick  gum,  and  when  the  plant  begins 
to  wilt  in  the  hot  sun,  there  arises  from  it  an 
odor  so  sickening  as  to  turn  away  a  sniffing 
dog.  In  almost  all  sorts  of  field  labor,  men 
are  disposed  to  talk;  old  men  discuss  religion, 
and  younger  ones  the  things  they  would  like 
to  do,  or  the  money  to  be  found  at  the  end  of 
the  rainbow;  but  men  cutting  tobacco  always 
appear  to  be  sullen,  with  no  hope  far  away  in 
the  turn-row.  Steaming  and  sticky,  itchy,  and 
ever  on  the  verge  of  nausea,  they  look  long 
ingly  at  a  cloud  becalmed  in  the  distant  sky, 
wondering  if  it  will  ever  parasol  them  from 
the  rays  of  the  blistering  sun. 

The  sky  in  August  may  have  been  purple,  a 
reflection  of  the  ripening  earth;  but  in  Sep 
tember  it  is  a  great  brass  kettle,  inverted. 
There  have  been  a  few  chilly  mornings,  the 
first  advertisements  of  winter's  tragic  book, 
and  the  sun,  warned  of  his  coming  loss  of 
power,  gathers  in  all  his  fuel  for  a  final  effort. 
Left  free  to  roam  in  the  woods,  how  I  should 
have  dreamily  worshiped  that  season  of  the 
year!  Never  had  the  creek  murmured  with 
so  low  and  so  sweet  a  music.  The  leaves  on 
the  great  saw  briars  were  turning  red,  and  the 


HELD  HER  HAND  175 

air  was  laden  with  the  thrilling  scent  of  the 
green  walnut.  The  weather  was  dry,  and  far 
away,  on  the  verge  of  every  hill,  a  slight  dust 
was  constantly  rising  about  the  fancied  horses 
of  feud  bands  galloping  to  battle  in  the  valley. 

One  Sunday  morning,  when  in  the  creek  and 
with  lye  soap  I  had  cleansed  myself  from  the 
tobacco's  fuzz  and  gum,  I  lay  on  the  grass  in 
the  yard,  wishing  that  life  were  an  eternal  rest 
day.  A  man  halloed  at  the  gate,  waving 
something  in  his  hand.  Nan  ran  out,  and  as 
she  was  returning,  I  heard  her  cry,  "Oh,  a  let 
ter  from  Amy !" 

I  scrambled  up  to  join  in  the  excitement, 
and  by  courtesy  was  suffered  to  sit  in  the  door 
while  Mrs.  Emory  read  the  letter  aloud.  The 
writer  began  by  telling  how  beautiful  every 
thing  was,  and  how  much  she  was  in  love  with 
her  surroundings.  Never  before  had  she 
known  that  any  one  could  learn  so.  rapidly. 
"And  every  one  is  so  kind  to  me,"  she  went 
on.  "You  would  think  that  I  am  the  sister  of 
all  the  girls  and  the  daughter  of  all  the  teach 
ers.  Last  night  we  had  a  ball,  and  I  never 
saw  anything  so  lovely.  The  music  was  too 
sweet  for  anything,  and  I  wore  my  white  mull. 


176  "  TURK  " 

Of  course  I  want  to  see  you  all,  but  I'm  not  a 
bit  homesick;  I'm  so  anxious  to  get  an  educa 
tion,  so  that  I  may  reflect  some  little  credit 
on  the  parents  who  have  been  so  kind  to 
me." 

"She  doesn't  tell  anything,  and  she  doesn't 
write  as  if  she  were  in  a  fair  way  to  get  much 
of  an  education,"  said  the  professor. 

"Walter,"  his  wife  replied,  "do,  for  good 
ness'  sake,  give  the  child  a  chance.  Having 
been  a  teacher  so  many  years,  you  ought  to 
know  that  learning  is  not  a  jewel  to  be  found 
in  a  day.  It  requires  persistent  effort." 
Slowly  she  began  to  put  the  letter  back  into 
the  envelope.  "It  has  always  been  a  mystery 
to  me  why  you  have  such  a  contempt  for  col 
leges,  being  a  college-bred  man  and  for  so 
long  a  time  a  professor.  Why  is  it,  Walter?" 

"Haven't  I  told  you  that  among  professors 
I  had  bitter  and  destroying  enemies?" 

"But  if  they  had  been  ignorant,  wouldn't  the 
situation  have  been  the  same?" 

"Decidedly  not,"  said  the  professor.  "If 
they  had  been  ignorant,  I  should  never  have 
met  them,  but  let  us  change  the  subject.  Are 
you  going  to  church  to-day?" 


HELD  HER  HAND  177 

"It  is  hardly  worth  while  to  ask  me  that 
question,"  she  replied.  "I  am  not  recovered 
from  my  antipathy  to  seeing  infants  sent  to 
torment." 

"But,  my  dear,  Mr.  Hoover  is  in  need  of 
hearers." 

"And  so  should  be  every  man  who  believes 
as  he  does." 

"But  if  I  ask  you  as  a  special  favor,  will  you 
go?" 

"Yes,  for  you  I  am  willing  to  undergo  almost 
any  hardship." 

"If  you  put  it  that  way,  we  won't  go.  I  con 
fess  that  I  don't  like  Hoover's  extremes — 
absurdities  if  you  will;  but  he  and  I  hold  in 
common  many  ideas  of  governmental  polity 
and  social  reform,  and  as  I  am  afraid  that  a 
hint — well,  you  might  say  a  suggestion — from 
me  caused  him  to  declaim  against  slavery, 
why,  I  am  conscientiously  impelled  to  make, 
at  this  time  of  strained  relationships  between 
him  and  the  people — make  one  of  his  hearers. 
I  believe  him  to  be  a  courageous  man.  Wait 
a  moment.  Any  man  would  hesitate  to  stand 
and  face  a  howling  mob,  steeped  in  ignorance 
and  standing  back  from  the  perpetration  of 


178  "TURK" 

no  crime,  when  once  fired  with  a  taste  of 
infamous — excitement;  and " 

"Turk,"  said  Mrs.  Emory,  "hitch  up  the 
horses." 

When  the  barouche  was  made  ready,  the 
kind  woman  told  me  that  if  I  so  desired  I 
might  remain  at  home;  and  she  must  have 
been  surprised  at  my  answer:  "I'd  like  mighty 
well  to  go,  ma'm."  And  I  had  told  the  truth. 
He  was  so  human  on  the  night  he  came  hat- 
less  and  almost  shirtless  to  our  house,  that  to 
my  mind  he  had  undergone  quite  a  reforma 
tion.  Somehow,  I  don't  know  why,  I  have 
always  liked  to  see  a  man  standing  well  down 
on  the  earth.  No  exalted  mind  ever  regarded 
meanness  with  more  of  loathing  than  I  look 
upon  snobbery.  One  cold  night  I  slept  with  a 
horse  thief,  and  I  gave  him  more  than  half  of 
the  cover;  but  I  would  have  sat  up  all  night 
covered  with  frost  rather  than  to  have  slept 
with  a  snob. 

Nan  and  I  sat  together,  and  she  pinched  me 
to  make  me  cry  out;  but  she  might  have 
picked  me  to  pieces  and  I  would  have  smiled 
on  her.  So  I  have  seen  a  wild  boar-shote 
have  his  ears  torn  off  by  dogs  and  never  give 


HELD  HER  HAND  179 

forth  a  sound.  After  a  time  she  asked  me  if 
I  were  enjoying  the  ride,  and  I  told  her  that  I 
was  happy,  and  in  a  way  I  was.  To  sit  there 
beside  that  hateful  creature  was  a  happiness, 
although  a  torture.  After  a  while  she  seemed 
to  repent  of  her  cruelty.  She  whispered  that 
I  might  hold  her  hand.  And  this  thrilled  me 
more  than  any  of  her  pinches,  but  I  was  too 
proud  to  show  m^  joy. 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  whispered  in  her  ear,  "I 
will  wait  till  Amy  comes  home  and " 

"She  won't  speak  to  you.  Hold  my  hand, 
sir." 

I  held  her  hand,  longing  to  kiss  it — held  it, 
and  the  old  field  through  which  we  were  pass 
ing  bloomed  forth  in  a  million  dazzling  colors. 
Far  away  in  the  sky  a  buzzard  was  balancing 
himself,  and  he  looked  like  an  angel  dropping 
slowly  from  heaven! 

"Do  you  like  me?"  I  whispered. 

"I  like  puppy  dogs,  but  not  as  well  as 
kittens." 

This  set  us  both  to  tittering,  and  the  profes 
sor  turned  partly  round  in  his  seat  and  said, 
"Behave  back  there." 

I   waited   till   again   he  and   his  wife  were 


180  "TURK" 

engaged  in  earnest  talk,  and  then  I  whispered, 
"If  your  other  hand's  cold  I'll  hold  that,  too." 

"Cold!     It's  burning  up." 

"Then  let  me  blow  on  it  to  cool  it  like  a  hot 
potato." 

"That  would  scorch  it.  Turn  my  hand 
loose.  Do  you  think  I  let  you  hold  it  because 
I  like  you?  I  didn't.  I  just  wanted  to  see 
how  big  a  fool  you  were." 

She  took  her  hand  away,  and  the  buzzard 
was  a  buzzard  in  the  air,  and  the  old  field  was 
covered  with  yellow  sedge  grass,  and  the  road 
was  deep  with  dust. 

Now  we  were  within  a  short  distance  of  the 
meeting-house.  We  had  only  to  go  through 
a  skirt  of  timber,  through  another  field,  and 
then  into  the  grove  wherein  once  of  Sundays 
so  many  horses  were  tied;  but  as  we  neared 
the  place  we  saw  no  horses,  and  no  hymn 
came  with  the  soft  wind.  But  the  air  was 
heavy  with  a  smell  that  was  not  of  the  ripened 
year.  Closer  we  drew,  and  suddenly  the  pro 
fessor  exclaimed,  "The  infamous  devils!" 

The  church  was  a  heap  of  smoldering  ashes. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

A  SHELTERLESS  FLOCK 

HE  HOUSE  had  been  of  wood  and, 
dried  by  a  long  season  of  the  sun, 
had  burned  like  a  haystack.  It 
was  evident  that  the  fire  had  been 
kindled  only  a  few  hours  before  our  arrival. 
In  the  dusty  road  near-by  there  were  fresh 
tracks  of  horses  and  of  tires,  showing  that 
other  members  of  Hoover's  small  flock  had 
come  and  departed.  We  halted  long  enough 
to  drink  from  the  spring  which  bubbled  clear 
from  beneath  a  hillock  of  gravel,  but  the 
water  was  not  so  sweet  as  the  eternal  vintage 
of  Old  Blood;  and  such  was  my  remark,  but 
the  professor  frowned  upon  me. 

"No  more  comparison,  sir,"  said  he,  "than 
with  water  dipped  from  a  hollow  stump.  Get 
in,  and  we  will  drive." 

It  was  thought  well  to  enlarge  upon  our 
Christian  duties  to  the  extent  of  making 
inquiries  concerning  the  present  whereabouts 
of  the  preacher.  To  surmise  that  his  bones 

181 


182  "  TURK ' 

were  roasting  in  the  ashes  would  have  lent 
glamour  to  the  situation;  but  the  mere  hint  of 
it  gave  Mrs.  Emory  the  shudders,  though  I 
believe  that  Nan  would  have  helped  us  to 
rake  the  dying  embers. 

The  farmhouse  in  which  Mr.  Hoover  had 
made  his  home  was  not  more  than  three  miles 
distant,  and  thither  we  drove.  The  farmer 
came  out  to  the  fence  with  no  very  friendly 
greeting  for  us  and,  when  questioned,  said 
that  he  had  a  notebook  in  which  he  made  it  a 
point  to  keep  track  of  things,  such  as  early 
and  late  frosts,  the  coming  of  insects,  and  the 
appearance  of  strange  lights  in  the  sky;  but 
that  he  had  entered  no  word  concerning  the 
preacher.  He  was  a  little,  nervous  old  fel 
low,  and  chewed  tobacco  like  a  sheep  chewing 
grass. 

"But  you  are  aware  of  the  fact,  I  suppose, 
that  they  have  burned  down  his  church,"  said 
the  professor. 

"As  a  general  thing  I  have  kept  track  of 
fires,  too,"  said  the  old  fellow,  standing  with 
one  foot  resting  on  a  wheelbarrow.  "I  can 
give  you  the  very  day  and  almost  the  hour 
when  old  Howerson's  haystack  burned,  and  I 


A  SHELTERLESS  FLOCK  183 

believe,  though  I'm  not  quite  certain,  I  made 
a  'randum  of  the  fire  in  Anderson's  shed;  but 
my  book  don't  tell  me  anything  about  the 
burnin'  of  Hoover's  nigger-house." 

"His  church  was  burned  down  last  night  or 
early  this  morning,  sir,"  said  the  professor. 

"Wall,  that  reminds  me  that  I  did  git  up 
earlier  this  mornin'  than  usual,  thinkin'  that 
the  sun  was  risin'.  The  light  I  seed  must 
have  come  from  the  burnin'  of  the  nigger- 
house." 

"Sir,"  exclaimed  the  professor,  "some  one 
will  have  to  answer  for  it." 

"Oh,  it  ain't  that  bad.  Don't  make  much 
difference  what  time  I  get  up." 

"I  mean,  sir,  for  the  burning  of  that  church." 

"Oh!  Well,  go  out  and  call  the  roll,  and 
see  how  many  will  answer." 

"I  had  expected,  sir,  that  you  were  gentle 
man  enough  to  take  this  matter  more  seri 
ously." 

"Yes.  You  know  I  used  to  take  things  to 
heart  mightily?  I  did;  but  I  quit  it  since  old 
Bud  Wherry  fretted  himself  to  death  over  the 
loss  of  a  red  heifer." 

I  sat  back  almost  smothered  with  laughter. 


184  "  TURK  " 

How  it  tingled  and  tickled  me!  How  it 
belonged  to  the  blood  of  my  shiftless  race 
thus  to  quibble;  in  trifling  manner  to  drawl 
out  words  of  apparent  unconcern,  to  gape 
with  surprise  at  an  incident  of  no  moment,  to 
grin  at  a  tragedy,  and  to  assume  a  color  of 
stupidity  deeper  than  the  hue  of  ignorance- 
how  like  the  unlettered  white  of  the  South! 

"I  believe,  sir,"  said  the  professor,  "that  you 
have  a  shrewd  idea  as  to  who  set  fire  to  that 
house." 

"Walter,"  his  wife  began  to  caution  him, 
"let  us  not  get  into  any  discussion.  Let  us 
drive  on  home."  And  she  took  up  the  lines. 

"My  dear,  wait  a  moment.  Sir,  I  believe 
your  name  is  Buck — Riddleberry  Buck.  Gods, 
what  a  name!" 

"Walter,"  said  his  wife;  and  Nan  pinched 
me. 

"Well,"  drawled  the  farmer,  "I  don't  know 
as  it's  much  worse  than  Buck  Riddleberry 
would  be.  I  take  it  that  you  are  Professor 
Emory." 

"I  am  Mister  Emory,  sir.' 

"Yes.  You  are  the  feller,  they  say,  who 
lives  without  work.  Tell  me  how  you  do  it, 


A  SHELTERLESS  FLOCK  185 

and  I'll  build  you  a  nigger-house  three  times 
as  big.  You  know  I  love  the  shade  better 
than  any  man  you  ever  seed.  Sometimes  I've 
thought  I  must  have  been  born  in  the  shade. 
Wouldn't  it  look  that  way  to  you?  Plant  any 
sorghum  molasses  this  year?" 

"Sir,  an  officer  of  the  law  will  call  on  you." 

"You  know  I  ought  to  be  an  officer  of  the 
law  myse'f  ?  I  ought,  for  my  grandaddy  shot 
a  constable." 

The  professor  took  up  the  lines,  cast  upon 
Mr.  Riddleberry  Buck  a  look  of  contempt,  and 
drove  off.  I  looked  back  and  saw  the  old  fel 
low  standing  in  the  yard,  with  his  hands 
behind  him,  and  with  his  neck  stretched  out 
toward  us. 

"It  is  said,"  remarked  the  professor,  "that  a 
certain  phase  of  American  character  is  slowly 
passing  away.  Would  that  the  passing  were 
faster.  There  are  thousands  of  ways  to  work 
other  than  with  a  hoe;  but  unless  one  goes 
out  and  delves  in  the  field,  the  people  of  this 
community  term  him  lazy.  Turk,  I  am  get 
ting  up  a  school  reader  that  will  as  far  surpass 
old  McGuffy  as — well,  as  far  as  McGuffy  sur 
passes  Goodrich." 


186  "  TURK  " 

"They  use  McGuffy  at  Old  Blood,  sir,"  I 
remarked,  and  the  professor  turned  about 
with  a  snarl. 

"Will  you  desist,  sir,  from  ever  again  men 
tioning  that  name  to  me?  It  is  hateful  in  my 
ears.  If  you  think  that  on  your  part  it  is 
impossible,  go  and  live  with  Buck — Riddleton 
Buck,  sir." 

"I  believe  I  could  run  back  there  and  learn 
something  about  the  preacher,"  I  said,  and 
Mrs.  Emory  spoke  up. 

"That  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea,  Walter. 
Turk,  you  run  back,  and  we'll  wait  here  in  the 
shade." 

I  jumped  out  and  halted  a  moment,  hoping 
that  Nan  would  offer  to  go  with  me;  but  she 
didn't;  so  I  ran  back  as  fast  as  I  could  and 
found  the  old  fellow  walking  up  and  down  in 
the  yard. 

"Come  in,"  he  called  out  pleasantly  enough; 
and  when  I  entered  the  enclosure  he  said,  "I 
believe  you  and  me  are  sorter  kin."  I  had  no 
idea  of  any  relationship  and  told  him  so, 
whereupon  he  said,  "Well,  in  a  way — one  of 
my  ways.  Them  fellers  that  whipped  you 
that  time  caught  me  over  by  the  crossroads 


A  SHELTERLESS  FLOCK  187 

the  same  evenin',  and  lit  into  me  for  nothin' 
in  the  world  except  that  they  had  been 
drinkin',  and  larruped  me  till  I  couldn't  more'n 
git  home.  I've  never  mentioned  it  before — 
don't  like  to  tell  about  bein'  whipped,  you 
know.  I  heard  about  you  lookin'  for  'em,  and 
I  looked,  too,  and  I  hope  that  one  of  these 
days  the  good  Lord  with  His  many  blessin's 
will  let  me  find  'em.  They  sent  you  back  to 
find  out  something,  eh?" 

I  told  him  that  I  had  returned  upon  my  own 
suggestion,  and  he  laughed.  "Yes,  you  are 
closer  to  me  than  them  folks.  He's  a  putty 
high-headed  feller  for  a  man  with  his  fence 
corners  full  of  weeds.  Now,  about  the  burnin' 
of  that  church — I  don't  know  who  done  it. 
Mebby  it  was  the  fellers  that  skeered  the 
preacher,  and  mebby  it  was  just  one  man  that 
sneaked  over  there  jest  befo'  the  sun  riz. 
More  likely  one  man;  but  I  tell  the  truth 
when  I  say  I  don't  know  who.  A  good  many 
enemies  have  riz  up  ag'in  Hoover;  but  there 
ain't  goin'  to  be  much  inquiry  by  the  law. 
The  place  had  begun  to  stink  of  nigger  wool, 
you  know." 

"But  where  is  the  preacher  now?"  I  inquired. 


188  "  TURK  " 

"Well,  I  let  him  stay  here  till  last  night— to 
give  him  plenty  of  time  to  git  his  duds  away — 
and  then  hauled  him  over  to  a  cabin  on  the 
Austin  Branch,  about  two  miles  from  here. 
He's  goin'  to  stay  there  till  he  can  get  clear  of 
the  neighborhood.  My  opinyine  is,  he's  goin' 
up  North  and  lecture  ag'in  the  white  folks 
down  here;  and  it  don't  make  no  diffunce 
how  ignunt  a  man  is  nor  how  big  a  liar,  when 
he  goes  up  there  to  talk  about  the  South,  they 
put  sugar  on  him  and  swallow  him  whole. 
You'll  find  him  in  the  cabin  over  thar  a 
washin'  of  his  shirts,  if  it  wan't  Sunday. 
Want  a  dram?" 

I  got  away  from  him  faster  than  I  had  come. 
Were  those  racing  stars  never  to  fade  from 
the  dark  sky  of  my  lowering  mind?  Was  that 
spurt  of  a  new  current,  hotter  than  the  blood 
of  a  sweet  revenge,  ever  to  remain  in  my 
memory?  Of  fighting,  the  gods  grew  weary 
and  rested,  but  old  Satan  never  tires. 

Nan  lifted  the  leather  curtain  and  peeped 
at  me  as  I  came  running  through  the  dust. 
And,  when  panting  I  climbed  into  the  vehicle, 
the  professor  inquired,  "Is  he  after  you,  sir?" 

My  news  was  received  with  much  satisfac- 


A  SHELTERLESS  FLOCK  189 

tion,  and  touching  up  the  horse  we  drove 
toward  the  preacher's  cabin,  a  mere  hut  near 
a  rivulet.  Nan  cried  out  at  the  romantic 
beauty  of  the  scene  as  we  approached:  the 
spreading  trees,  the  green  grass  sheltered 
from  the  burning  sun,  the  wild  vines;  but  the 
professor  was  sad  as  he  viewed  the  place  of 
lonely  banishment,  and  he  repented  having 
laughed  when  the  frightened  man  came  run 
ning  out  of  the  dark  night. 

"I  ought  to  have  been  more  serious,"  said 
he.  "Ah,  and  in  my  heartless  levity  how 
much  did  I  differ  from  that — that  infernal 
Riddleberry  Buck?  Frail,  frail,  all  of  us.  I 
ought  not  to  have  laughed  at  his  distress." 

The  cabin  was  low  and  covered  with  clap 
boards.  From  a  chimney,  built  of  sticks  and 
roughly  plastered  with  mud,  a  slow  coil  of 
smoke  was  issuing  into  the  still  air.  On  the 
thick  mat  of  grass  the  wheels  made  no  sound. 
The  door  stood  open.  The  professor  halloed, 
but  there  was  no  answer  from  within  the 
cabin.  Thereupon  we  got  out  of  the  barouche 
and  approached  the  door.  There  was  no  one 
within,  but  a  fire  was  burning  on  the  flag 
stone  hearth,  and  on  the  coals  a  pot  was  boil- 


190  "  TURK  " 

ing.  We  entered.  On  the  table  was  a  bread 
trough,  and  in  it  made-up  meal  in  preparation 
for  a  corn  cake.  From  a  rafter  hung  a  flitch 
of  bacon.  In  a  corner  was  a  low  bed,  spread 
with  a  red  blanket.  All  these  features,  so 
homely  of  ordinary  life  in  our  part  of  the 
country,  might  have  told  of  an  abode  other 
than  that  of  the  preacher's;  but  in  another 
corner  were  boxes  of  books,  piled  one  upon 
another  until  the  top  one  reached  well  up  to 
the  rafters,  and  there,  too,  in  the  dusk  was  the 
portrait  of  the  elder  Macaulay,  with  hard-set 
lips,  grim  and  determined  in  the  gloom. 

"This  is  the  place,"  said  the  professor. 
"Now  I  wonder  where  our  unfortunate  friend 
can  be?" 

Of  further  speculation  we  were  relieved, 
for  at  that  moment  there  fell  a  footstep  at  the 
door,  and  in  came  Mr.  Hoover  carrying  a  pail 
of  water.  Our  greeting  of  him  was  as  hearty 
as  if  we  had  found  him  in  the  snuggest  of 
quarters,  and  upon  us  he  shed  the  smile  of 
martyred  contentment.  He  placed  the  pail 
on  the  floor,  stepped  toward  Mrs.  Emory,  and 
then  moving  backward  to  make  a  bow  upset 
the  water  and  said  that  he  was  honored. 


A  SHELTERLESS  FLOCK  191 

This  set  Nan  to  giggling,  and  the  professor 
was  constrained  to  rasp  his  throat  at  her  a 
number  of  times  before  she  desisted. 

"My  dear  brother,"  said  the  professor,  "we 
have  come  to  express  our  sorrow  and  to 
assure  you  of  our  sympathy.  You  indeed 
have  cause  to  cry  out  against  the  injustice  of 
a  so-called  civilization.  We  admire  your 
determination  to  adhere  to  the  right;  but  why 
have  you  so — so  projected  an  inroad  upon 
your  own  comfort  as  to  take  up  your  abode  in 
this  place?  Sir,  I  humbly  offer  to  you  the 
shelter  of  my  modest  roof." 

There  are  certain  schools  of  theology  that 
seem  to  temper  a  man  against  all  forms  of 
emotion.  All  phases  of  the  gospel  must  be 
regarded  with  cool  reserve,  and  all  life  must 
be  accepted  as  the  mandate  of  unalterable 
Providence.  Mr.  Hoover  had  gone  through 
one  of  these  schools,  and  without  a  tremor  of 
voice  he  could  sentence  the  soul  of  a  child  to 
the  "lake  of  molten  lead" — but  still  he  was  not 
devoid  of  feeling.  Of  this  he  had  given  evi 
dence  on  two  occasions:  once  when  with  most 
human  flight  he  cleft  the  dark  wind,  and  now 
when  a  tear  gleamed  in  his  eye. 


192  "  TURK  " 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  must  abide  here  until  the 
proper  time  of  my  departure.  And,  indeed, 
what  could  be  more  in  keeping  with  the 
despairing  spirit  of  man?  But  I  assure  you 
that  I  am  not  unhappy  here.  I  am  so  close  to 
nature  that  I  feel  all  of  her  throbs  and  her 
pains.  Indeed,  so  contented  have  1  been  here 
that  I  scarcely  note  the  passing  of  time. 
Beneath  this  tree,  I  am  living  poetry.  Here 
is  the  forest  of  Arden.  Yonder  is  the  rivulet 
where,  in  my  fancy,  the  wounded  deer  weeps 
'into  the  needless  stream.'  On  the  green 
boughs  hangs  many  a  sonnet  for  the  lover  of 
nature.  All  this  I  shall  embody  into  a  ser 
mon  and  preach  it  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow!"  said  Mrs.  Emory,  glancing  at 
the  professor,  who  blinked  his  eyes  in  aston 
ishment. 

"To-morrow,"  repeated  the  preacher,  "I  will 
go  to  my  humble  rostrum  as  of  yore  and, 
fresh  from  these  cool  mosses,  bring  words  of 
comfort.  Yes,  to-morrow,  another  Sabbath." 

I  expected  that  Nan  would  titter,  but  she 
didn't.  With  the  rest  of  us  she  looked 
serious.  The  good  man  had  lived  in  poetry 
until  he  had  lost  track  of  the  days. 


A  SHELTERLESS  FLOCK  193 

"Mr.  Hoover,"  said  the  professor,  "this  is 
Sunday,  and  we  went  over  to  hear  you  preach, 
but " 

"Sunday!  You  astonish  me.  Sunday!  Why, 
I  must  have  disappointed  my  flock." 

"Mr.  Hoover,"  said  the  professor,  "your 
shepherdless  flock  is  without  shelter.  Some 
one  has  burned  your  church." 

I  was  closely  watching  the  preacher's  face, 
and  the  change  in  his  countenance  put  me  in 
mind  of  the  shadow  of  a  leaf  waving  across  a 
limestone  rock.  We  stood  in  silence,  and  it 
was  some  time  before  he  spoke.  When  he 
did  speak,  it  was  as  if  his  words  came  rum 
bling  low  from  a  great  distance. 

"This  means  that  I  must  now  buckle  on  my 
armor.  Upon  the  stone  shall  be  whetted 
sharp  the  sword,  and  up  among  the  hills  and 
down  in  the  valleys  shall  be  heard  the  cry, 
'To.  your  tents,  O  Israel.' ' 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT 

ITHOUT  another  word  the  minister 
turned  away.  The  professor  spoke 
to  him;  but  as  one  in  a  daze,  he 
walked  out  of  the  door  and  down 
the  hill  toward  the  rivulet.  Mrs.  Emory  ran 
forward  and,  taking  him  by  the  arm  as  he  was 
about  to  cross  the  stream,  begged  him  to  get 
into  the  barouche,  but  gently  he  put  her  back 
from  him  and  waded  through  the  water.  We 
watched  him  as  he  climbed  the  ridge  that  ran 
along  at  the  base  of  a  higher  hill,  and  here  he 
halted,  turned,  and  waving  his  hand,  rumbled 
back  at  us,  "To  your  tents,  O  Israel." 

"He  is  making  it  rather  too  theatrical  to 
suit  me,"  said  the  professor,  motioning  us 
toward  the  vehicle.  "Come,  let  us  be  going. 
No  use  to  watch  him,  Louise.  He  looks  as  if 
he's  going  to  play  the  gladiator.  And  that  is 
the  American  trouble.  We  are  too  shallow 
and  showy." 

"Surely   he's    not    going    to    leave   all    his 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT  195 

books,"  remarked  Mrs.  Emory,  gazing  after 
the  preacher,  who  was  now  ascending  the 
hill. 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  the  professor.  "He  will 
be  back  with  his  band-wagon." 

"Oh,  Walter,  don't  talk  that  way." 

We  got  into  the  vehicle  and  were  driving 
along  when  the  professor  remarked,  "We  are 
no  doubt  on  the  eve  of  a  great  revolution  of 
some  sort;  but  it  will  be  conducted  by  greater 
minds  than  Mr.  Hoover's.  I  have  striven  to 
enter  into — well,  what  I  might  almost  term 
sacred  relationship  with  him;  but  somehow 
there  is  that  about  him — well,  something  I 
don't  like.  What  is  it,  eh,  Turk?" 

He  reached  round  and  touched  me  with  his 
whip.  "His  eyes  pop  out  too  much,  I  think, 
sir,"  was  my  reply. 

Mrs.  Emory  in  a  kindly  way  reproved  me, 
but  the  professor  cried  out,  "That's  it,  pop- 
eyes  talk  much.  There's  too  much  talk  about 
him." 

But  his  wife  did  not  agree.  Within  the 
radiation  of  her  sympathy,  the  preacher  did 
not  reside  until  she  had  entered  his  lowly 
cabin;  but  at  that  moment  pity  cloaked  him 


196  "  TURK  " 

about,  made  of  him  a  martyr  and  therefore  a 
hero. 

"You  didn't  care  for  him  until  he  put  on  his 
grease-paint,"  said  the  professor. 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  she  replied. 

"Until  he  made  up,"  said  the  professor. 

"Made  up!     I'm  sure  he  is  sincere." 

"So  he  was  when  he  sent  infants  to  tor 
ment." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  he  quite  meant  to  do 
that.  And,  besides,  there  are  thousands  of 
liberal-minded  people  who  believe  as  he  does." 

"Well,  hardly  liberal-minded,"  retorted  the 
professor. 

"Devout-minded,  then,"  she  insisted. 

I  could  not  bring  myself  to  the  point  of  lik 
ing  the  preacher;  but  somehow  her  defense  of 
him  pleased  me.  Was  it  because  he  was  now 
an  under  dog  in  the  fight? 

The  next  day  I  went  back  into  the  steamy 
tobacco  field,  hating  the  world  and  especially 
hating  Nan;  for  when  I  chanced  to  go  near 
her,  she  made  grimaces  as  if  the  air  were 
charged  with  unpleasant  odors,  which  indeed 
may  have  been  true,  for  I  was  gummed  with 
tobacco  sap  from  head  to  foot.  A  "white- 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT  197 

trash"  man  and  two  of  his  boys  were  employed 
to  help  me;  but  they  were  so  slow  that  the 
constant  poking  up  entailed  almost  double 
work  on  my  part. 

Along  about  noon  on  the  third  day  of  their 
engagement  one  of  the  boys  called  me  a  liar; 
but  his  manner  was  not  playful  when  he  did  it, 
and  I  boxed  him.  He  was  not  hurt,  but  the 
old  man  took  me  gravely  to  task  and  gave 
several  texts,  freely  wrenched  from  the  book, 
to  show  that  I  was  doomed  to  the  fire.  How 
ever,  as  he  was  of  a  gentle  nature,  he  said  that 
he  would  pray  for  my  forgiveness  and  deliv 
ery,  and  he  went  away  into  the  shade  to  pray. 
He  was  gone  so  long  that  I  thought  it  well  to 
look  for  him,  and  I  did,  finding  him  asleep 
under  a  tree.  I  stirred  him  up  and  inquired  if 
he  thought  that  his  prayer  was  answered, 
whereupon  he  cried  out  that  I  was  a  blas 
phemer  thus  to  make  light  of  a  petition 
directed  above,  and  he  set  off  to  the  house  to 
lodge  a  complaint  with  the  professor.  For 
the  "white  trash"  the  negroes  had  a  contempt. 
Could  any  one  blame  them? 

The  professor  drove  the  old  man  and  the 
boys  out  of  the  field  and  employed  two 


198  "  TURK  " 

ruffians  that  had  come  down  the  river  on  a 
raft.  But  we  were  nearly  done  when  one  of 
them  almost  brained  the  other  with  a  pole,  and 
the  blood  that  was  shed  did  not  cripple  us 
much.  At  last  the  miserable  work  was  done, 
and  I  ran  to  the  creek  to  wash  myself  back 
into  the  appearance  and  the  feeling  of  a 
human  being. 

The  preacher's  chattels  were  hauled  off  in 
a  cart,  without  even  so  much  as  a  negro's  fife 
to  turn  it  into  a  band-wagon.  The  Ohio 
River,  that  watery  boundary  line  between 
principles  and  customs,  was  not  a  great  dis 
tance  north  of  us,  and  across  the  stream  the 
minister's  goods  were  ferried,  we  heard; 
indeed,  the  professor  entered  into  correspond 
ence  with  him,  and  not  long  afterward  I  heard 
him  say  to  his  wife  that  he  was  pleased  at  the 
growing  earnestness  and  practical  good  sense 
of  our  former  pastor.  I  dare  say  the  most  of 
us  have  observed  that  when  a  schoolman  com 
mends  any  one  for  practicality,  he  must  be 
practical  indeed.  But  if  ever  there  were  a 
man  lacking  in  this  quality,  it  was  my  master. 

From  North  to  South  and  back  again 
literary  sharp-shooters  popped  away  at  one 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT  199 

another.  Old  mammy  nurses,  seeking  to 
quiet  rebellious  children,  threatened  them 
with  runaway  negroes  hidden  in  the  thicket. 
Embryo  statesmen  in  colleges  and  at  Old 
Blood  howled  over  the  outrages  put  upon  the 
Constitution.  And  those  of  us  who  stood  upon 
the  hilltop,  watching  the  gathering  of  the 
clouds,  knew  how  slowly  a  great  storm  can 
come. 

Late  one  afternoon  there  halted  at  our 
house  two  white  men  having  in  charge  three 
negro  slaves  that  had  run  away  from  a  trader 
over  at  Scoville.  The  trader  with  a  large 
band  of  slaves  was  on  his  way  South,  industry 
in  this  line  having  been  stimulated  by  recent 
decisions  in  Indiana  and  Illinois,  denying  to 
masters  who  invaded  certain  territory  in  quest 
of  "runaway  property"  the  right  to  seize  upon 
the  same.  The  two  white  men  were  most 
brutal-looking  fellows,  and  we  were  taught  to 
regard  all  traders  in  human  commodity  as 
brutes.  There  were  masters  in  Kentucky 
who  never  bought  or  sold  a  negro,  and  these 
constituted  the  real  aristocracy  of  the  com 
monwealth. 

In  a  manner  that  Jid  not  smack  pleasantly 


200  "  TURK  " 

of  politeness,  one  of  the  men,  who  introduced 
himself  as  Mr.  Croft,  requested  food  and  lodg 
ing  for  the  night.  "These  bucks  ran  away 
from  the  Colonel  night  before  last;  and,  as 
the  main  drove  is  to  come  along  not  far  from 
here,  I  'lowed  we'd  rest  here  and  to-morrow 
mornin'  cut  across  the  county  and  head  'em 
off.  My  partner,  here,  is  Mr.  Vance." 

It  was  evident  that  they  had  gathered  no 
hint  as  to  the  abolition  principles  of  the  pro 
fessor;  and  I  expected  him  to  rage,  in  a 
smothered  way  at  least,  but  was  surprised  to 
see  him  smile  upon  the  ruffians  and  their 
three-linked  chain  of  black  flesh. 

Beneath  our  house  was  a  cellar  walled  with 
stone  and  lighted  by  only  one  small  window 
not  more  than  a  foot  square.  With  alacrity 
he  flung  up  the  cellar  door,  this  believer  in  the 
brotherhood  of  man,  and  told  Mr.  Croft  that 
he  might  with  safety  therein  immure  his 
rebellious  charge.  Nor  did  Mrs.  Emory  pro 
test  when  thus  her  house  was  to  be  made  a 
prison.  Nan  began  to  whimper,  seeing  the 
blood  where  the  handcuffs  had  chafed  the 
poor  wretches;  but  the  professor  scolded  her, 
and  she  shut  the  outward  gates  of  her  sym- 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT  201 

pathy.  Of  course  I  had  been  reared  in  the 
belief  that  the  negro  was  incapable  of  intense 
suffering;  wise  men  had  written  to  prove  that 
he  was  an  animal  and  had  no  soul;  and  some 
of  them,  and  indeed  some  white  men,  I  am 
still  persuaded,  have  none.  But  the  sight  of 
those  mute  monsters,  whose  ragged  raiment 
had  been  torn  more  ragged  by  hounds,  smote 
me  with  a  deep  pity.  And  it  was  no  wonder, 
I  mused,  that  the  professor  could  laugh  at  the 
desperate  plight  of  the  poor  preacher,  when 
he  had  within  his  breast  so  changeable  a  cur 
rent  of  feeling. 

To  Mr.  Croft  and  his  co-ruffian,  Vance,  a 
savory  supper  was  spread,  and  when  one  of 
them  remarked  that  possibly  the  "bucks" 
might  be  in  need  of  something,  the  professor 
spoke  up:  "We'll  throw  them  down  some 
scraps  after  a  while.  And  now,  gentlemen,  I 
desire  you  to  make  yourselves  perfectly  at 
home  in  my  house.  You  have  ridden  hard 
and  I  know  that  you  must  be  tired;  so,  when 
you  are  ready  to  lie  down  for  the  night,  I'll 
show  you  to  your  room.  Turk,  look  into  the 
closet  under  the  hall  stairway  and  bring  that 
jug.  Gentlemen,  I  have  some  old  Robinson 


202  "TURK" 

County  liquor  that  was  won  on  the  election  of 
James  K.  Polk.  You  are  welcome  to  it." 

I  brought  the  jug  and  put  it  before  them, 
trembling  in  every  joint,  and  then  ran 
out  bare-headed  and  stood  where  th' .  cool  air 
might  blow  upon  me.  From  the  dining-room 
there  came  the  clinking  of  glasses,  and  I  went 
further  away,  pulled  down  a  vine  dripping 
with  dew,  and  pressed  it  against  my  face. 
Dusk  had  blurred  the  long-lingering  light  of 
the  west,  and  a  screech  owl  was  crying,  when 
another  sound  came — what  was  it?  One  of 
the  poor  devils  in  the  cellar  was  singing  a 
strange  song,  a  melancholy  chant  brought 
from  the  jungles  of  Africa. 

The  professor  called  me  and  commanded 
me  to  go  early  to  bed,  as  he  desired  me  to  rise 
before  day  and  take  a  turn  of  corn  to  the  mill. 
I  obeyed,  going  hot  in  my  old  thirst  to  my 
garret;  and  after  the  clock  had  pounded  off 
the  hour  of  eleven,  I  heard  our  guests  talking 
in  their  room — heard  them  sputter  at  a  song 
and  clink  their  glasses.  They  had  taken  the 
jug  with  them,  and  through  the  thick  wall  its 
essence  permeated,  and  I  pressed  the  musty 
pillow  against  my  dilating  nostrils.  After  a 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT  203 

long  time  all  sounds  from  below  died  out,  and 
the  upper  part  of  the  house  was  still,  save  for 
the  snoring  of  the  guests.  Suddenly  a  light 
flashed,  the  mottled  light  of  a  tin  lantern,  and 
stealing  to  the  window  and  looking  down  I 
saw  some  one  at  the  cellar  door.  Dressing 
hastily,  I  crept  down  the  stairs  and  went  round 
to  the  window  whence  I  could  view  the  cellar. 
Peeping  through,  I  saw  the  professor  with  a 
lantern.  His  wife  stood  on  the  steps  with  a 
large  package  in  her  hand.  The  negroes  had 
scrambled  to  their  feet  and  were  gazing  in 
astonishment.  The  professor  held  up  a  finger. 
The  black  giants  nodded,  for  they  saw  some 
thing  which  I  did  not  see  for  a  moment  after 
ward — a  file.  Now  it  was  all  clear—  the  appar 
ent  welcome  of  the  slave  hunters  and  the 
jug. 

"This  is  slow  work,"  murmured  the  profes 
sor  as  he  proceeded  to  work  with  his  file. 
"Oh,  by  the  way,  Louise — the  saw."  Mrs. 
Emory  went  hastily  up  the  steps  and  soon 
returned  with  a  saw  not  much  larger  than  a 
case  knife,  and  with  this  the  professor's  work 
was  rapid,  so  that  soon  one  of  the  chains  fell 
upon  the  floor.  The  poor  prisoner  stretched 


204  "  TURK  " 

his  arms,  and  then  sinking  upon  the  ground 
clasped  the  knees  of  his  liberator. 

"Don't,"  commanded  the  professor.  "We 
haven't  much  time."  Then  he  turned  his 
attention  to  another  negro,  who  stood  waiting 
in  the  shadow.  "It  is  not  far  to  the  Ohio 
River,"  said  the  professor,  sawing  as  fast  as 
he  could.  "In  that  bundle,  which  my  wife  will 
give  you,  there  is  food  enough  to  last  you 
several  days  and  a  note  to  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Hoover.  You  will  find  him  at  number 
seventy-five,  Marsh  Street,  Cincinnati.  Can 
you  remember  that?" 

One  of  the  negroes  said  that  he  could  man 
age  to  read  a  little,  and  the  professor  con 
gratulated  him  upon  his  knowledge.  Another 
chain  fell  to  the  ground.  "Knowing  from 
what  vicinity  you  have  come,"  said  the  pro 
fessor,  attacking  the  last  chain,  "Mr.  Hoover 
will  take  especial  pains  to  see  that  you  get 
into  Canada."  The  negro  nodded. 

I  wondered  how  we  were  to  make  it  right 
with  the  "drovers,"  or  even  to  offer  any  sort 
of  explanation.  If  we  should  fight  them  and 
conquer,  there  would  still  remain  a  palliation 
due  to  society  and  the  law.  Something 


"IT'S    NOT     FAR    TO     THE    OHIO     RIVER*' 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT  205 

touched  me.  I  looked  up,  and  there  stood 
Nan.  Without  speaking  we  peeped  into  the 
cellar,  her  cheek  against  mine,  and  a  glory 
came  over  me  as  I  felt  the  warm  velvet  of  her 
skin.  I  wished  that  the  work  might  go  on 
forever;  and  yet  I  vowed  within  myself  at 
this  moment  of  trembling  ecstasy  that  I  hated 
her,  because  she  had  been  born  my  enemy. 
She  moved  back;  the  current  was  broken,  and 
I  was  a  clod  again. 

"How  are  they  going  to  fix  it  with  the  men 
upstairs?"  I  whispered. 

"They  are  going  to  kill  them." 

I  must  have  cut  an  odd  caper,  for  she 
laughed  in  my  face.  "No,"  she  added,  "they 
are  going  to  put  powder  under  one  corner  of 
the  house  and  blow  out  a  hole.  I  heard  them 
talking  about  it.  And  when  the  men  hear  the 
noise,  they'll  come  tumbling  down;  but  by 
that  time  the  negroes  will  be  nearly  to  the 
Ohio  River.  It  will  be  a  slow  match,  and 
father  and  mother  will  be  asleep  when  it  goes 
off.  Hush." 

.  The  last  chain  fell.  There  was  a  short 
whispered  talk  in  the  cellar,  and  Mrs.  Emory 
gave  the  bundle  to  one  of  the  negroes.  Then 


206  "  TURK  " 

the  prisoners,  once  more  blessing  their  deliv 
erers,  ran  out  into  the  yard  and  were  gone. 

"Go  to  bed,"  Nan  whispered,  scampering 
away;  and  without  waiting  to  view  the  laying 
of  the  mine,  I  obeyed  her.  Long  I  lay  there, 
waiting;  and  then  it  came  over  me  that  there 
was  to  be  no  explosion,  that  she  had  tricked 
me.  And  in  this  belief  I  dozed  off  to  sleep, 
but  it  seemed  that  with  the  coming  of  the 
instant  afterward,  I  was  groping  about  near 
the  window.  For  a  moment  it  appeared  to 
my  half-aroused  senses  that  the  floor  was 
steep  and  uneven,  like  a  rugged  hill,  and  that 
I  was  trying  to  climb  to  the  summit;  but  the 
next  moment,  and  amid  smoke  that  came  in 
rolling  puffs  from  below,  all  was  realized,  and 
I  understood  that  I  had  been  almost  thrown 
out  of  bed  by  an  explosion.  The  professor's 
voice  reached  me  in  a  loud  roar,  and  then 
came  the  screaming  of  his  wife.  In  the  room 
whence  had  come  stealing  the  essence  of 
liquor,  a  wild  confusion  arose.  I  heard  the 
sharp  smash  of  glasses  and  the  jug  bounce 
with  a  loud  bump  upon  the  floor,  and  then 
down  the  stairway  went  tumbling  Mr.  Croft 
and  his  friend,  Mr.  Vance. 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT  207 

I  dressed  and  ran  down  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  there  was  the  professor,  half  dressed, 
walking  up  and  down,  swearing  that  his  house 
was  ruined.  His  wife  swooned  with  terror, 
and  artful  Nan  was  crying  with  the  expres 
sion  of  a  cat  in  her  face.  The  shrewdness  of 
Croft  made  all  things  plain.  About  the 
negroes  was  concealed  abolition  powder  and  a 
file.  Hastily  seized  and  driven  hurriedly, 
they  had  not  been  properly  searched.  It  was 
not  the  first  time  that  outrages  had  been  thus 
perpetrated.  Never  mind,  the  damages  to  the , 
house  should  be  paid  by  the  Colonel,  and  the 
hounds  would  soon  bring  back  the  would-be 
murderers. 

Pursuit  was  useiess  in  the  dark,  and  before 
daylight  the  "drovers"  departed  for  Scoville, 
whence  they  were  to  return  with  dogs.  They 
were  pressed  to  remain  to  breakfast,  but  they 
declined,  afraid,  it  was  clear  from  their  uneasy 
actions,  that  their  employer  would  deem  them 
remiss  in  duty;  but  they  ran  back  upstairs  to 
take  one  more  pull  at  the  jug.  The  thought 
that  it  might  have  been  broken  and  that  its 
thrilling  contents  were  dripping  through  the 
cracks  in  the  floor  seized  upon  me,  and  tempt- 


208  "  TURK  " 

ing  the  devil  I  stood  in  the  room  below;  but 
the  men  came  down  with  the  jug,  and  the  pro 
fessor  kindly  bade  them  take  it  with  them. 
They  made  a  weak  demur,  but  went  away 
with  it;  and  the  learned  man,  my  master,  took 
hold  of  a  tree  in  the  yard  and  laughed,  and 
the  coming  of  broad  day  revealed  the  joy- 
tears  in  his  eyes. 

"It  was  a  narrow  escape  for  us  all,  Turk," 
he  said;  "and  I  am  so  thankful  that  no  one 
was  hurt.  But  what  surprises  me  is,  how 
those  negroes  could  have  concealed  so  much 
powder  about  them." 

"They  must  have  worn  it  sprinkled  in  their 
wool,"  I  replied,  and  the  learned  man  appeared 
to  be  thoughtful. 

Well,  now,  sir,"  he  said,  "I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  if  that  were  a  fact.  You  have  hit 
upon  a  bright  idea,  and  I  shall  commend  it  to 
the  sheriff."  And  with  that  he  was  again 
seized  with  laughter  and  went  behind  the 
house.  When  he  returned  to  comfort  his 
wife,  who  declared  that  she  didn't  know  how 
soon  there  was  to  be  another  blow-up,  I  told 
him  I  thought  that  we  had  better  repair  the 
damage  done  the  cellar.  He  shook  his  head 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT  209 

gravely  and  remarked  that  he  could  ill  afford 
such  a  luxury  as  an  explosion,  and  that  per 
haps  the  county  might  levy  a  special  tax  to 
re — re — and  here  again  he  was  seized,  but  he 
turned  it  off  adroitly  into  a  cough  and  so 
escaped  the  necessity  of  going  behind  the 
house. 

Shortly  after  the  sun  was  well  up,  our  two 
guests,  accompanied  by  several  men  and  a 
number  of  dogs,  poured  into  the  yard 
Among  them  was  a  deputy  sheriff,  and  with 
grave  caution  he  went  down  into  the  cellar  to 
examine  the  scene  of  the  outrage.  Minute 
examination  revealed  saw  filings  on  the 
earthen  floor,  and  some  of  these  the  officer 
scraped  up  and  put  away  in  a  corner  of  his 
pocketbook.  Through  the  hole  made  by  the 
explosion  the  negroes  had  evidently  escaped; 
for  here  were  tracks  in  the  soft  earth.  The 
door  was  still  fastened  with  a  padlock  when 
Croft  and  Vance  had  reached  the  ground. 

The  hounds  when  put  upon  the  scent  cried 
out  with  a  great  "ounk,  ounk,"  and  ran  off 
toward  the  river.  The  "mount"  followed,  and 
for  a  long  time  we  heard  the  chase,  until  at 
last  it  died  away. 


210  "  TURK  " 

At  this  moment  the  professor  and  I  were 
standing  at  the  back  fence.  He  turned  to  me, 
stripping  an  althaea  bush  at  the  time,  I  remem 
ber,  and  said,  "Turk,  an  old  woman  that  lives 
beyond  the  sedge  field  to  your  right  as  you 
pass  on  toward  Goggins,  knows  how  to  make 
clothes  for  chaps  about  your  size,  and  I'd 
advise  you  to  go  over  at  once  and  let  her  eye 
you." 

"But  I  have  no  cloth,  sir." 

"Is  that  so?  Why,  I  understood  her  to  say 
that  a  friend  of  yours  had  left  some  cloth 
there  for  you — a  sort  of  brown  and  gray  mixed 
jeans,  I  believe.  Go  on.  You  are  a  jewel, 
Turk.  You  never  see  anything." 


CHAPTER   XV 

MAKING  THE  ROUNDS 

N  THE  neighborhood  there  was 
much  talk  about  our  explosion. 
The  damage  was  exaggerated;  and 
a  newspaper  published  in  a  distant 
county  gave  an  account  of  the  wrecking  of 
our  house  by  the  abolitionists,  the  serious 
wounding  of  a  child,  and  the  crippling  of  the 
professor  for  life;  but  we  did  not  escape  the 
sneers  of  some  of  our  nearer  neighbors.  One 
afternoon  I  was  returning  from  a  visit  to  the 
old  woman  who  was  making  my  clothes  and 
who  was  committing  me  to  memory  by 
degrees,  when  along  the  road  I  fell  in  with 
Riddleberry  Buck.  He  was  walking  and  car 
ried,  wrapped  in  a  tow  sack,  several  plow- 
points  which  he  was  taking  to  the  blacksmith 
to  have  sharpened. 

"The  blow-up  didn't  hurt  you  none,  I  see," 
he  remarked,  as  I  came  out  of  a  path  into  the 
road. 

"No,  I  can  manage  to  walk." 


212  "  TURK  " 

"Any  of  the  family  hurt?" 

"Scared  a  good  deal,  but  not  hurt." 

"Ah,  hah."  He  walked  along,  chewing  his 
tobacco  and  humming  a  tune,  a  sort  of  timber 
wolfs  lullaby.  "In  bed  at  the  time,  eh?  You?" 

"Yes,  and  asleep." 

"Sleep.  Then  you  didn't  know  it  was  goin' 
to  take  place,  eh?" 

"Did  you  know  that  thing  was  coming 
down?"  I  asked,  pointing  to  a  tree  newly  felled 
by  a  wood-chopper. 

"Well,  I  mout  have  know'd  it,  by  puttin'  this 
and  that  together,  the  blows  of  the  ax  and  so 
on.  Can't  say  that  I  know'd  it  was  goin'  to 
fall,  but  it  ain't  no  surprise  seein'  of  it  down. 
Was  it  any  surprise  to  you  when  you  seed  the 
place  whar  the  powder  went  off?  Hah?" 

"Yes,  it  was  a  great  surprise,"  I  answered, 
for  long  ago  I  had  learned  to  lie  like  a  recep 
tion  committee. 

"And  you  don't  believe  the  professor  man 
had  anything  to  do  with  it,  eh?  Speak  out 
straight.  You  know  I  give  you  the  right  sort 
of  talk  the  day  I  wouldn't  tell  him  nothin'. 
Yo'  folks  are  all  Southern,  an'  you  ain't  no 
nigger  lover.  Out  with  it." 


MAKING  THE  ROUNDS  213 

"No  more  to  do  with  it  than  you  had." 

"Hah,  is  that  so?"  From  one  shoulder  to 
the  other  he  shifted  his  sack  of  plow-points. 
"I  was  talkin'  to  Horner,  the  stillhouse  man, 
an'  he  says  thar  ought  to  be  an  investigation. 
Lou  Biddle  says  the  same  thing." 

"Wh's  Lou  Biddle?" 

"Town  marshal  at  Scoville." 

"Well,  let  him  stick  to  his  town.  Is  he  any 
kin  to  the  Biddies  that " 

"That  helped  the  Nesbitts  fight  yo'  folks  a 
long  time  ago?  Yes,  belongs  to  the  same 
tribe  and  full  of  the  devil." 

"So  am  I  when  it  comes  to  that." 

"Oh,  you  are  a  spunky  little  brat,  ain't  you? 
Say,  ricolleck  the  two  fellers  that  sorter  made 
you  and  me  kin  to  each  other — fellers  that 
whipped  us?  I  hearn  of  them.  Feller  from 
Louisville  told  me  he  seen  'em  helpin'  to  flat- 
boat  salt  down  to  New  Orleans.  Have  you 
quit  thinkin'  about  'em?" 

"I  have  dreamed  about  them  a  thousand 
times,  and  always  a  man,  that  I  took  to  be  my 
father,  stood  there  looking  at  me  with  sorrow 
in  his  eyes." 

"You  don't  say!     Well,  I  turn  off  here." 


214  "TURK" 

Farther  along  I  was  about  to  leave  the  road 
to  cross  the  fields,  when  who  but  old  Horner 
should  come  in  sight,  on  the  brow  of  a  steep 
hill  only  a  few  yards  away?  He  was  driving 
in  a  little  old  gig  that  rattled  and  constantly 
threatened  to  fall  to  pieces.  About  his  neck 
he  wore  a  red  handkerchief,  and  for  a  time  it 
looked  as  if  his  throat  had  been  cut  from  ear 
to  ear.  As  he  came  along,  I  was  sitting  on 
the  fence,  and  he  would  have  passed  on  with 
out  noticing  me,  but  his  horse  shied  and  rat 
tled  the  gig  in  every  joint. 

"Hello,  you  there,  sir!  What  are  you  doin' 
up  there  makin'  a  scarecrow  of  yourself?" 

"Is  your  horse  afraid  of  scarecrows?  Won 
der  he  lets  you  harness  him." 

"Hay?  No  impudence,  now.  Oh,  it's  you, 
is  it?  You've  grow'd  so  much  I  hardly  know'd 
you — must  have  grow'd  the  sixteenth  of  an 
inch  since  I  saw  you  last.  I  was  thinkin' 
about  you  the  other  day — 'lowed  that  as  you 
was  such  a  good  hand  to  rob  a  stillhouse,  you 
might  be  a  good  hand  to  work  in  one.  Think 
you'd  like  that  sort  of  a  job?" 

"I'd  be  afraid,  sir." 

"Afraid  of  what?" 


MAKING  THE  ROUNDS  215 

"The  whisky,  sir.  I  never  drank  any  but 
once,  but  it  has  been  a  fight  ever  since  then." 

"Then  you  are  the  man  to  work  right  with 
it.  They  tell  me  the  best  man  to  do  danger 
ous  work  is  the  feller  that's  always  afeerd." 

"I  don't  want  to  do  that  sort  of  work.  I 
think  it  would  cost  me  my — my  respectability." 

"Why,  damn  your  freckled  hide,  you  set  up 
there  and  talk  about  respectability!  Who  are 
you  to  talk  that  way?" 

"The  grandson  of  a  drunkard." 

"Hay?  Sharp  as  a  tack,  ain't  you?  Good 
boy,  stick  to  it.  And  if  you  grow  a  little  more 
and  manage  to  wash  some  of  them  yaller 
specks  off'n  your  face,  you  may  make  a  'man 
of  yourself.  Oh,  by  the  way,  you  was  at 
Emory's  house  when  the  explosion  took  place, 
wasn't  you?" 

I  told  him,  and  he  eyed  me,  came  closer 
over  to  my  side  of  the  road  and,  like  an  old 
turtle,  stretched  his  neck  out  further  from  his 
crimson  swipe  of  handkerchief.  "Tell  me 
about  it."  I  told  him  in  my  own  manner,  that 
is  to  say,  covering  the  truth,  and  with  the  lash 
of  his  whip  he  slowly  tapped  at  the  ears  of  his 
old  horse. 


216  "  TURK  " 

"Yes,"  he  drawled,  "it  was  a  good  thing  to 
have  had  a  witness.  But  you  know  men  don't 
part  with  some  thirty-five  hundred  dollars' 
worth  of  nigger  flesh  so  easy  as  to  let  all 
investigation  go.  And  then  society  has  to 
send  round  its  bill.  Do  you  know  what 
society  is?" 

"A  lot  of  folks  together  a-talking  and  not 
saying  much,"  I  answered,  and  he  laughed  like 
a  dog  gagging.  "Wall,  in  one  sense  that  is 
about  it;  but  in  the  sense  I  use  it,  the  meaning 
takes  in  every  self-respectin'  man  in  the  com 
munity.  All  these  folks  together  form  what 
is  called  society,  and  they  may  have  a  bill  to 
send  over  in  the  direction  of  the  ex-school 
teacher's  house.  You  recollect  some  of  the 
boys  scared  the  abolition  preacher  mighty 
nigh  to  death.  But  they  only  scared  him. 
The  next  time  the  boys  go  out  they  may  do 
somethin'  a  leetle  more  substantial." 

"You  mean  that  they  may  come  after  the 
professor  and  whip  him.  Is  that  it?" 

"I  have  scattered  the  seeds;  and  if  you  want 
to  cover  them  with  dirt  and  water  them,  all 
right." 

Over  in  an  adjoining  field,  a  young  woman 


MAKING  THE  ROUNDS  217 

came  along,  and  with  a  hoe  was  cutting  the 
sassafras  sprouts  in  the  corners  of  the  fence. 
Old  Homer  looked  at  her,  his  eye  kindling 
with  interest  as  he  observed  the  vigor  of  her 
stroke.  "A  furren  girl,  to  work  out  that  way, 
I  take  it,"  he  said  as  she  passed  beyond  hear 
ing.  "Ah,  she  may  be  furren  and  all  that,  but 
I  tell  you  she'd  make  some  industrious  man  a 
mighty  good  wife."  He  turned  about  to  look 
at  her.  "But  it  seems  to  me  that  the  hoe  she 
has  is  a  leetle  too  heavy  to  get  the  best  results 
out  of  her.  Her  father  or  husband,  if  she's 
got  one,  ought  to  be  more  careful  with  her 
and  furnish  her  with  a  lighter  one." 

"Do  you  believe  they  are  coming  after  the 
professor?"  I  bluntly  asked  as  he  began  to 
tighten  his  lines. 

"Why,  I  haven't  said  anything  of  the  sort. 
I  reckon  you'd  like  to  know  the  exact  time  so 
you  could  be  there." 

"Yes,  sir;  and  I  want  to  say  they  won't  have 
as  easy  a  time  as  they  had  when  they  made 
the  preacher  tote  the  window  sash."  He 
looked  at  me,  wrinkling  his  face,  sneezed  like 
an  old  goat,  and  drove  on. 

In  one  corner  of  our  yard  there  was  a  shed 


218  "TURK" 

in  which  the  professor  sometimes  pretended 
to  do  carpenter  work.  And  he  was  thus 
engaged  when  I  reached  home,  near  the  set 
ting  of  the  slowly-cooling  sun.  How  strong, 
at  this  moment,  the  recollection  of  him  as  he 
then  appeared  comes  back  to  me!  As  I 
entered  he  was  shoving  a  plane  along  the 
smooth  surface  of  a  piece  of  yellow  poplar. 
He  looked  up,  with  a  shaving  in  his  mouth, 
and  nodding  went  on  with  his  work,  but  when 
I  began  to  tell  of  the  talk  with  old  Horner,  he 
suddenly  eiected  the  shaving  from  his  mouth, 
and  it  hung  like  a  ribbon  on  his  beard. 

"Turk,"  he  said,  "don't  you  believe  that  it 
was  a  genuine  explosion?" 

I  told  him  that  I  did;  and  it  was,  for  none 
but  a  genuine  explosion  could  have  thrown 
me  out  of  bed  at  that  hour  in  the  morning. 
"Ah!"  said  he,  looking  upon  me  and  com 
mending  my  unswerving  spirit  of  truth.  "And 
you  may  use  the  derringers,  and  I'll  sweep 
things  with  the  shotgun." 

"And  are  the  derringers  to  be  loaded,  sir?" 
I  asked,  not  in  innocence  but  with  a  whim 
that  tickled  me  to  the  end  of  the  toes;  but  he 
did  not  catch  my  humor. 


MAKING  THE  ROUNDS  219 

"Loaded!     Loaded,  sir,  to  the  very  muzzles." 

He  smiled  over  the  prospect  of  danger. 
They  might  call  him  lazy;  but  not  with  cause 
could  any  one  charge  him  with  cowardice. 
And  that  reminds  me  that  some  of  the  laziest 
men  I  ever  saw  were  brave.  Laziness  is  often 
but  a  lack  of  interest  in  work.  Shift  the  voca 
tion,  and  all  sloth  disappears.  Al  Hocker- 
smith,  who  lived  near  Old  Blood,  but  who 
possessed  not  the  grace  of  having  learned  to 
read  at  the  famous  school,  just  naturally 
hated  to  work  in  the  hemp  field;  but  he  was 
keen  in  looking  for  a  fight;  and  just  as  they 
were  putting  a  halter  around  his  neck,  he 
looked  up  and  said,  "Here's  this  damned  hemp 
again." 

Through  my  mind  this  bit  of  foolishness 
floated  and  dipped  like  dandelion  fuzz  in  the 
still  air,  while  the  professor  stood  there  smil 
ing  as  if  I  had  brought  him  the  most  pleasing 
news.  In  innocence  rather  than  in  humor,  I 
asked  him  if  he  had  ever  killed  a  man;  and 
brushing  from  his  whiskers  the  poplar  ribbon, 
he  gravely  remarked,  as  if  talking  to  himself, 
"I  ought  to  have  killed  him,  but  I  didn't." 

"What  was  his  name,  sir?" 


220  "  TURK  " 

"Whose  name?"  he  demanded  almost 
fiercely,  gripping  my  arm. 

"The  man  you  ought  to  have  killed,  sir." 

"Let  him  be  nameless.  But  I  ought  to  have 
killed  him,  the  traitor.  He  stole  something 
from  me  and  made  my  life  as  slow  as  a 
snail's." 

"Steal  a  horse  from  you?" 

"Horse!  The  devil!  Can't  you  people 
think  about  anything  but  horses?  Look  at 
me,  an  old  man.  He  stole  a  woman." 

"A  negro  woman  that  belonged  to  you?" 

"Turk,  you  are  not  as  complete  a  fool  as 
you  look,  and  not  very  often  as  you  act.  You 
have  some  idea,  but  as  yet  you  cannot  know. 
But  some  day  your  soul  may  take  fire,  and  the 
flame  may  enshroud  a  woman.  Do  you  know 
what  I  mean?" 

Of  his  history  I  knew  more  than  he  was 
aware.  My  master  at  Old  Blood  had  talked 
about  him.  "Yes,  sir,"  I  answered,  "I  know, 
and  some  day  I  may  understand  better  than  I 
do  now.  I  believe  that  my  heart  is  to  be 
broken  by  a  woman." 

The  old  man  placed  his  hands  on  my  shoul 
ders  and  looked  into  my  eyes.  Was  it  true,  as 


MAKING  THE  ROUNDS  221 

I  had  heard  hinted,  that  he  was  not  always 
sound  in  his  head?  I  wondered  why  he  had 
ever  married,  if  the  woman  whom  he  loved 
had  been  stolen  away;  and  with  a  schoolmas 
ter's  cleverness  in  contemplating  younger  and 
inferior  minds,  he  read  my  thoughts. 

"I  did  love  her,  and  I  do  now.  She  is  noble 
and  gentle,  like  my  daughter  Amy.  But  the 
other  one  was  like  a  witch  and  rode  me  with 
her  hands  in  my  hair.  But  if  you  ever  say 
anything  about  it,  I  will  crack  your  head." 

I  stepped  back  from  him,  with  the  scent  of 
whisky  tingling  in  my  nostrils,  and  I  knew  that 
he  had  been  drinking.  "But  not  much,"  he 
said,  catching  the  picture  in  my  countenance. 
"Only  one  dram.  Once  in  a  long  while  rebel 
lious  thought  drives  me  to  it,  but  never  to 
excess.  Old  Dr.  Johnson  thought  that  smok 
ing  prevented  insanity." 

"Did  he  practice  in  this  neighborhood,  sir?" 
I  inquired. 

"No,  he  was  a  doctor  of  ideas  rather  than  of 
medicine,  and  as  such  would  have  selected  any 
other  community.  I  would  not  say  it  if  I 
didn't  feel  assured  that  in  every  way  you  can 
control  yourself;  but  now  and  then  whisky 


222  "  TURK  " 

prevents  insanity.  A  great  philosopher 
thought  that  a  man  should  go  so  far  as  to  get 
drunk  once  a  month  and " 

"You  mustn't  tell  me  that!"  I  cried.  "When 
you  do,  I  can  feel  a  knife  in  my  hand  and  see 
a  hangman's  rope  trailing  beside  me.  Don't 
tell  me  that.  Tell  me  that  the  great  man  was 
a  liar." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  you?  A  liar, 
of  course  he  was.  There,  supper's  ready. 
Go  on.  I'll  be  with  you  soon." 

When  he  followed,  which  he  did  shortly 
afterward,  his  eyes  were  red,  but  no  other 
sign  that  he  had  been  drinking  was  visible; 
he  sat  down  and  went  through  with  the  meal 
as  if  it  had  been  a  grave  ceremony  imposed 
upon  him. 

That  night  we  began  our  watch  for  the  ma 
rauders,  and  with  the  two  pistols  clapped  to  my 
sides  and  bound  about  with  a  strip  of  black 
cloth  for  a  belt,  I  felt  that  at  last  the  laggard 
world  had  bestowed  upon  me  one  of  its  bless 
ings.  Ah,  and  when  the  professor  went  to 
bed,  leaving  to  me  the  conduct  of  the  cam 
paign!  The  fence  inclosing  the  yard  was  my 
beat,  and  around  and  around  I  walked, 


MAKING  THE  ROUNDS  223 

heavy  of  foot;  and  when  Nan  came  out  and 
stood,  with  the  rising  moon  in  her  face,  I 
thought  of  the  woman  whom  the  professor 
had  lost;  for  surely  Nan  was  a  witch  when  all 
the  daylight  was  gone;  and  I  should  not  have 
wondered  had  she  seized  me  by  the  hair  and, 
like  a  witch,  spurred  me  over  the  tree  tops 
and  up  amid  the  chilling  mists.  But  she  was 
so  beautiful,  standing  there,  and  I  was  her 
sole  protector. 

"You'd  better  go  into  the  house,"  I  said. 
"It  is  da'ngerous  here." 

Her  laugh  was  as  cool  as  the  waterfall  that 
poured  upon  me  after  the  night's  hot  revel  on 
the  hill.  "Dangerous!  I'm  not  afraid  of 
crickets." 

"Crickets!"  I  repeated  with  contempt. 
"Men  with  guns." 

"Well,  when  they  come,  I'll  call  father." 

"If  you  are  a  friend  of  mine,"  I  began  in 
warm  resentment;  but  she  cooled  me  with  her 
laugh. 

"A  friend  of  yours!     Who  said  I  was?" 

"I  never  said  so,  but  I  always  hoped  you 
were."  And  long  afterward  I  wondered  if 
from  some  older  mind  she  caught  up  her 


224  "TURK" 

reply:  "You  hope  like  some  people  that  pro 
fess  to  be  Christians — without  cause." 

Here  duty  called  upon  me,  and  slowly  I 
paced  my  round.  When  I  returned,  she  was 
still  standing  with  her  face  to  the  moon. 
"You  like  to  look  at  the  moon,  don't  you?" 

"Yes.     They  don't  call  it  7^'." 

This  started  me  on  another  round,  and 
again  I  returned  and  found  her  not  looking  at 
the  moon,  but  by  its  beams  trying  to  read 
something.  "I  have  some  news  from  your 
sweetheart,"  she  said,  folding  a  piece  of  paper 
and  putting  it  into  the  pocket  of  her  apron. 

"These  are  my  sweethearts,"  I  replied,  slap 
ping  the  derringers  and  strutting  off  a  few 
paces  from  her.  "And  they  laugh  loud  when 
they  are  tickled." 

"If  you  don't  want  to  hear  from  Amy,  I 
won't  tell  you  some  news  about  her." 

"From  Amy!  Oh,  yes,  tell  me  about  her. 
But  is  she  my  sweetheart?" 

"You  thought  so.  But  you  wouldn't  think 
so  if  you  knew  what  was  in  this  letter  that  I 
got  from  her  to-day.  You  can't  keep  a  secret, 
can  you?" 

"Ask  your  father.     But  wait  a  moment  till  I 


MAKING  THE  BOUNDS  225 

go  the  rounds  again."  She  waited  till,  slowly 
pacing,  I  came  back  to  her.  "What  does  she 
say?" 

"She  is  in  love.  And  that's  the  reason 
everything  looked  so  bright  to  her  when  she 
wrote  the  last  time." 

"In  love?"  It  was  not  quite  time  for 
another  round,  and  I  waited  for  her  to  tell  me 
more. 

"In  love  with  a  professor  in  the  college. 
She  says  he  is  her  English  teacher,  and  he 
must  have  taught  her  grammar — first  person, 
I  love;  second  person,  you  love — and  both  of 
us  know  it  will  make  father  as  mad  as  a  hor 
net.  Do  you  know  why  he  doesn't  like  pro 
fessors?" 

"No.     I  thought  he  did." 

"Turk,  how  can  you  expect  me  to  like  you 
when  you  tell  me  such  fibs  all  the  time?  I 
heard  him  say  something  to  you  this  evening, 
when  you  were  in  the  carpenter  shop.  What 
was  it?" 

"He  said  that  some  rats  have  longer  tails 
than  others." 

"Is  that  the  reason  he  took  hold  of  your 
shoulders  and  shook  you?  Is  that  what  made 


225  "TURK" 

him  drink  out  of  a  jug  and  groan  and  walk  up 
and  down  with  his  hands  behind  him?  Are 
all  men  liars,  and  do  they  all  drink  out  of 
jugs?" 

"I  think  the  most  of  them  drink  out  of  jugs, 
and  I  know  that  they  must  all  be  liars,"  I 
replied  out  of  the  depths  of  my  wisdom,  which 
was  my  experience. 

"But  Nick  Bowles  don't  get  drunk,"  she 
said,  and  she  moved  about  so  as  to  catch  the 
moonlight  upon  my  face. 

"No,"  I  replied;  and  she  laughed.  "Oh, 
you  know  he  does,  but  you  won't  tell  on  him. 
And  they  haven't  heard  of  him  since  the 
preacher  went  away,  have  they?" 

"I  haven't." 

"But  I  have.  A  man  stopped  here  to-day 
and  said  he  was  living  in  Scoville.  The  man 
said  Lou  Biddle,  the  town  marshal,  made  him 
tell  all  he  knew  about  father  and  the  preacher. 
Is  that  cattle  coming  down  the  road?" 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE  MEN  WITH  SWITCHES 

HE  distinct  trampling  of  horses 
smote  upon  my  ear.  The  sounds 
came  from  far  down  the  old  mili 
tary  road  that  ran  past  our  house. 
On  the  road  there  were,  especially  in  the  fall 
of  the  year,  many  travelers  on  horseback, 
merchants  riding  far  to  buy  goods;  but  I  pre 
tended  alarm  and  told  her  to  go  into  the 
house.  She  refused.  Pretty  soon  there  came 
a  whoop,  not  from  a  merchant,  unless  he  were 
drunk,  but  from  a  night-rider  bent,  upon 
deviltry  or  reckless  pleasure.  I  seized  her 
arms,  and  in  a  delight  danced  her  into  the 
shadow  of  the  fence,  and  there  we  waited. 
Spirit  of  blood-loving  sire,  you  must  have 
hovered  over  me  then;  for  in  those  moments 
of  waiting,  with  that  wild  beauty  there  with 
me  in  the  dark,  I  was  happier  than  the  owner 
of  a  fireside  sitting  in  honored  contentment. 

About  her  I  put  my  arm,  and  for  a  few  blessed 

227 


228  "  TURK  " 

seconds  she  stood  still  with  her  face  against 
my  breast.  But  the  sounds  of  hoofs — blast 
them! — seemed  to  grow  fainter,  and  she  moved 
back  from  me  in  such  a  way  that  I  felt  the 
futility  of  following  her, 

"Don't,"  she  said.  Then  came  another 
whoop,  sweetly  nearer,  and  she  turned  as  if 
she  would  run  into  the  house;  but  I  caught 
her.  Not  even  her  father  should  share  with 
me  the  honor  and  the  joy  of  protecting  her. 
She  made  no  effort  to  break  away  from  me, 
but  looked  up  and  her  eyes  were  ablaze  in 

one  single  ray  of  light — looked  at  me  and 

laughed.  And  now  there  was  hardly  room 
for  mistake.  We  heard  the  low  voices  of 
several  men.  The  riders  had  dismounted  and 
were  tying  their  horses.  We  waited.  She 
asked  me  for  one  of  the  pistols,  and  now  it 
was  my  time  to  laugh. 

"But  I  will  stay  with  you,"  she  said. 

"I  wish  they  would  stand  out  there  forever 
and  keep  us  here,"  I  said,  and  she  did  not 
laugh  at  that.  Here  they  came  down  the 
road,  silent  till  one  of  them  struck  the  gate 
with  something  that  made  a  noise  like  a 
bunch  of  switches. 


THE  MEN  WITH  SWITCHES  229 

"Go  in,"  commanded  a  low  voice.  "We'll 
knock  at  the  door,  and  when  he  comes  out, 
grab  him." 

That  was  enough.  Out  I  leaped  and  fired 
both  pistols,  one  quickly  following  the  other. 
A  wild  yell  arose,  there  was  a  scampering  for 
the  road,  and  by  the  time  they  were  clear  of 
the  gate,  out  came  the  professor.  He  fired 
both  barrels  of  his  gun,  but  too  low,  I  could 
see.  And  now,  as  we  had  spent  our  imme 
diate  force,  we  were  put  to  the  need  of 
recharging,  a  thing  which  in  those  days  was 
not  quickly  to  be  done.  Leading  Nan  by  the 
hand,  I  ran  into  the  house,  and  the  professor 
scolded  her  as  he  fumblingly  poured  powder 
from  a  flask.  Mrs.  Emory's  face  was  as  white 
as  the  night-cap  she  wore;  but  she  said  noth 
ing,  neither  did  she  get  in  our  way  as  we  were 
loading  the  gun  and  pistols,  which  at  that  time 
I  thought  was  a  marvelous  piece  of  judgment, 
though  since  then  I  have  seen  delicate  women 
wade  in  blood  and  with  fingers  that  did  not 
tremble  clean  their  gory  shoes.  By  the  time 
we  were  again  ready,  I  had  given  the  profes 
sor  an  account  of  the  attack,  and  he  put  his 
hand  on  my  head  and  called  me  a  brave  boy, 


230  "TURK" 

which  I  did  not  relish  over-much,  since  I  now 
regarded  myself  as  a  man. 

"We  must  have  peppered  some  of  them,"  he 
said;  and  not  till  I  suggested  going  out  with 
a  lantern  was  it  that  his  wife  spoke  a  word. 

"Wait  awhile,"  she  said.  And  then  she 
smiled.  "Ah,  they  weren't  chasing  a  defense 
less  preacher  that  time.  Turk,  we  are  proud 
of  you." 

I  grew  about  an  inch  in  two  minutes  and 
lighted  the  lantern.  "It  is  necessary  to  look 
over  the  field,  ma'm,"  said  I,  remembering  the 
talk  of  some  old  Mexican  War  veterans.  And 
I  insisted  upon  going  alone,  but  the  professor 
went  with  me.  Carrying  the  lantern  low,  I 
searched  the  ground  and  was  disappointed 
not  to  find  a  sheaf  of  my  own  reaping.  "The 
ones  with  the  big  bullet  holes  are  mine,"  I 
said  to  the  professor  as  slowly  we  walked 
down  the  road. 

"You  may  have  all  you  find,"  he  replied, 
and  by  his  tone  I  fancied  that  he  was  pleased 
at  the  bloodless  result  of  the  campaign.  As 
we  were  returning  to  the  house,  there  came  a 
lusty  hello,  and  with  weapons  ready  we  went 
back  to  the  gate,  to  find  old  Champ  Jones 


THE  MEN  WITH  SWITCHES  231 

standing  there  with  a  rifle  as  long  as  a  hoop- 
pole. 

"I  was  coming  over  here  when  I  heard  you 
open  up,"  said  he.  "Was  down  on  the  creek 
looking  after  my  traps  in  the  early  shine  of 
the  moon,  and  along  came  one  of  the  Potter 
tribe,  and  he  said  that  from  what  he  heard 
over  in  town  some  of  the  boys  intended  to  pay 
you  a  visit  to-night." 

The  professor  gave  an  account  of  the  siege, 
and  old  Champ  shook  me  by  the  hand.  "Oh, 
you  can  depend  on  him,"  he  said.  "There 
used  to  be  quite  a  generation  of  them  around 
here,  and  nobody  ever  saw  their  heels  except 
when  they  were  running  for  fun." 

There  was  no  danger  of  another  attack,  but 
we  "played  like"  there  was,  and  until  daylight 
we  sat  with  our  guns  and  pistols,  to  me  a 
heaven  excelled  in  happiness  only  by  those 
brief  moments  when  I  had  stood  with  my  arm 
about  Nan.  I  would  not  accept  all  the  honors 
of  bravery,  but  insisted  upon  sharing  them 
with  her,  and  old  Champ  shook  me  again  and 
said  that  I  not  only  would  fight,  but  that,  like 
all  true  men,  I  was  gallant,  which,  in  my 
ignorance,  I  took  to  mean  being  fond  of  the 


232  "TURK" 

"gals."  How  fast  that  night  sped  away,  there 
by  the  fire,  cooking  our  "rations!"  And  not 
until  the  sun  came  up  did  Nan  show  her  old 
indifference  toward  me.  Then  she  said  that  I 
didn't  know  how  to  shoot;  and  at  that  I  hung 
my  head,  for  I  felt  that,  being  so  near,  I  ought 
to  have  winged  one  at  least.  After  breakfast 
old  Champ  said  that  he  would  go  with  the 
professor  over  to  Scoville,  and  I  whined  that 
I  ought  to  go,  too;  but  they  appeased  me  by 
declaring  that  I  must  remain  at  home  to  pro 
tect  the  women  and  children. 

With  derringers  in  my  black  cloth  belt,  I 
walked  up  and  down  the  road.  News  of  the 
attempted  whipping  had  begun  to  spread,  and 
in  dignity  I  stood  stiff  to  answer  questions 
asked  by  a  neighbor.  One  man  charged  me 
with  defending  a  black  abolitionist;  and  with 
pistol  at  full  cock,  I  ordered  him  to  move  on, 
which  he  did  with  a  pace  that  was  not  slow. 
Nan  came  out  to  tell  me  that  dinner  was 
ready.  On  her  lip  was  a  snarl,  like  a  bit  of 
red  ribbon  twisted.  Ah.  whither  had  flown 
her  moon-lighted  loveliness?  The  day  had 
grown  gray  with  the  premature  age  of  mist, 
the  air  was  damp,  and  about  the  girl's  fore- 


THE  MEN  WITH  SWITCHES          233 

head  hung  many  an  impudent  kink  of 
hair. 

"How  can  you  be  so  mean?"  I  asked.  And 
she  replied,  "Mean!  I  haven't  said  a  word." 

"But  your  looks  curse  me." 

"What  do  they  say?" 

"Call  me  a  damned  fool." 

"Ain't  you?" 

At  that  moment  I  wished  that  the  marau 
ders  might  gallop  up  and  fire  a  volley  in  our 
faces.  And  if  I  were  wounded  nigh  unto 
death  and  she  my  nurse  to  sit  beside  me  in 
the  dark  night,  the  soft  wind  stirring  the 
candle  flame,  the  dreaded  moment  coming  on 
with  its  summons  from  eternity — to  muse  upon 
it  were  a  happiness,  surely  a  reproach  to  her 
for  cruelty,  and  therefore  sweet  to  me. 

At  the  head  of  the  table  I  proudly  took  my 
seat,  growing  every  second;  and  when  my 
plate  was  helped  first,  I  fain  would  put  my 
hand  upon  my  head  to  keep  from  shooting 
upward  like  Jack's  bean  stalk.  With  no  sign 
of  that  patronage  which  the  poor  boy  con 
stantly  looks  for  in  the  dread  of  being  hum 
bled,  Mrs.  Emory  was  kind  and  gracefully 
attentive  to  me.  She  was  proud,  she  said, 


234  "  TURK  " 

that  her  home  was  the  home  of  a  hero;  and  I 
was  afraid  to  look  at  Nan,  for  I  heard  a  cool 
rippling  that  sounded  like  her  laughter  in 
derision. 

After  dinner  I  resumed  the  walking  of  my 
beat  and  kept  at  it  until  the  professor 
returned.  He  stood  waiting  while  I  took  off 
his  saddle  at  the  yard  gate,  and  when  I  asked 
what  had  become  of  old  Champ,  he  replied, 
"I  don't  understand  him.  We  were  coming 
along,  he  walking  and  keeping  up  with  me. 
I  noticed  from  time  to  time  that  his  gait  was 
wonderfully  easy  for  an  old  man,  and  that  his 
eye,  when  he  looked  up  at  me,  was  bright. 
He  was  telling  me  of  his  contentment,  living 
in  his  shaded  cabin  all  alone,  when  suddenly 
his  gait  changed  to  a  sort  of  lockstep,  and, 
sniffing  the  air,  he  turned  off  into  the  bushes 
and  without  a  word  left  me.  I  don't  under 
stand  him." 

I  did,  but  I  said  nothing.  The  professor 
wanted  no  dinner,  having,  while  in  town, 
feasted  on  the  countryman's  delight,  sardines 
and  crackers;  and  sitting  in  his  rocking  chair 
with  his  pipe,  he  told  us  of  his  visit  to  the 
authorities.  First,  he  found  it  necessary  to 


THE  MEN  WITH  SWITCHES  235 

convince  the  sheriff  that  he  was  not  an  aboli 
tionist.  This  was  not  easy,  as  it  was  known 
that,  in  company  with  a  young  schoolteacher 
named  James  G.  Elaine,  he  had  come  from 
the  North;  but  he  proved  by  old  Champ  that 
he  was  not  opposed  to  slavery,  and  that  he 
owned  no  negroes  simply  because  he  was  not 
able.  Lou  Biddle,  the  town  marshal,  asked 
him  many  pointed  questions  concerning  the 
escape  of  the  three  negroes;  and  one  shrewd 
fellow,  who  appeared  to  be  a  lawyer,  wanted 
to  know  whether  it  was  true  as  reported  that 
he  kept  up  a  correspondence  with  Preacher 
Hoover. 

"And,"  said  the  professor,  "if  it  is  some 
times  necessary  for  a  man  to  evade  the  truth 
in  order  to  be  a  gentleman,  as  it  has  often 
been  declared,  it  is  surely  essential  at  times  to 
avoid  the  truth  for  the  sake  of  self-protection. 
I  made  to  them  a  speech  which  surely  they 
must  remember.  Knowing  their  fondness  for 
oratorical  flourish,  I  heaped  'dictionary'  words 
upon  them,  with  a  telling  figure  thrown  in 
from  time  to  time  by  old  Champ,  and  I  am 
persuaded  that  we  are  now  safe  from  further 
molestation." 


236  "TURK" 

"If  you  don't  believe  so,"  his  wife  spoke 
up,  "I  think  we  ought  to  move  over  into 
Ohio." 

Nan  objected.  She  knew  nothing  about 
Ohio,  but  she  had  heard  that  in  that  State  a 
negress  was  regarded  with  more  favor  than  a 
white  woman.  She  declared  that  if  the 
negroes  were  slaves  in  the  South,  it  was 
because  God  had  made  them  such;  and  turn 
ing  his  eyes  upon  her,  the  professor  looked  at 
her  a  long  time. 

"You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
-about,"  said  he,  and  Mrs.  Emory  slowly  shook 
her  head.  But  Nan  was  not  so  easily  to  be 
silenced.  "If  God  didn't  want  'em  to  be 
slaves,  He  would  set  'em  free,"  she  said;  and 
the  professor  threw  down  his  pipe,  got  out  of 
his  chair  and,  with  a  gesture  that  looked  like 
a  thrust  of  a  sword,  declared: 

"And  He  will  set  them  free — in  His  own 
good  time,  and  it  will  soon  be  here."  He  sat 
down,  but  did  not  take  up  his  pipe — he  sat 
and  mused  and  then,  looking  up  suddenly,  he 
said:  "And  by  the  way,  Turk,  I  did  you  a 
good  turn  to-day.  I  met  a  man  who  is  soon 
to  start  for  New  Orleans  with  a  drove  of 


THE  MEN  WITH  SWITCHES  237 

mules.  He  was  in  need  of  one  other  helper 
and  I  recommended  you.  The  winter  is  com 
ing  on  and  we  shall  have  no  particular  need 
of  you  here.  It  will  give  you  a  chance  to  see 
a  quaint  old  city  and,  besides,  will  pay  you 
well.  He  will  be  over  to  see  you  to-morrow 
morning.  What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

I  looked  at  Nan.  She  was  holding  a  kitten 
in  her  lap,  stroking  its  ears,  but  she  did  not 
look  at  me.  Had  she  heard  her  father's 
words? 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  he  repeated. 

"It's  all  right,"  I  answered.     "I'd  like  to  go." 

"You'd  be  a  goose  if  you  didn't,"  said  Nan, 
stroking  the  kitten.  "I  wish  I  had  such  a 
chance." 

When  Mrs.  Emory  remarked  that  the  dis 
tance  was  great  and  the  way  not  without  dan 
ger,  Nan  laughed  out  that  surely  now  I  must 
go,  as  danger  was  my  chief  pleasure.  After 
this  I  would  have  gone,  had  the  road  led 
through  a  swamp  of  snakes  and  a  thicket  of 
wild  cats.  So  that  night  my  effects  were  put 
into  a  faded  carpet-bag,  which  did  not  seem 
any  heavier  for  the  "packing";  and  when 
all  of  them  had  gone  to  bed,  I  took  the  bag 


238  "TURK" 

up  to  my  garret,  and  in  it  I  tenderly  placed 
a  book  and  a  bit  of  candle.  Ah,  it  had  been  a 
long  time  since  kindly  hands  had  brought 
another  book  and  a  new  candle.  Little  Amy, 
the  good — and  now  she  had  forgotten  me, 
away  at  school,  and  in  love  with  a  professor 
who  had  lamps  and  a  library. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

SEEING  THE  WORLD 

ARLY  on  the  following  morning  a 
man  came  riding  one  horse  and 
leading  another.  He  had  not  the 
time  to  dismount,  he  said;  his 
drove  of  mules  was  on  the  county  road,  about 
a  mile  away,  and  we  must  be  off  at  once.  He 
looked  around,  over  my  head,  as  if  trying  to 
seek  out  his  new  assistant;  and  when  the  pro 
fessor  introduced  me,  there  fell  upon  the 
drover  a  dark  look  of  disappointment. 

"You  don't  mean,"  said  he,  "that  this  is  the 
boy  that  defended  your  house?'1 

"This  is  the  boy;  and  when  needs  be,  he  is 
as  full  of  fight  as  a  gamecock." 

"Do  you  think  you  can  climb  on  this 
horse?"  the  man  inquired  of  me;  and  I  threw 
my  carpet-bag  on  the  ground  and  told  him 
that  I'd  see  him  roasting  rather  than  join  his 
party;  but  he  laughed  with  broad  good 

nature  and  told  me  to  mount. 

239 


240  '  TURK  " 

I  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Emory,  with  the 
professor,  and  turned  to  find  Nan;  but  off  in 
a  distant  part  of  the  yard  she  was  playing 
with  as  worthless  a  dog  as  ever  sneaked  under 
the  house  whenever  there  was  danger.  I 
called  to  her.  She  answered,  "Good-bye," 
and  continued  to  play  with  the  dog. 

And  so  I  left  them,  riding  a  big  sorrel 
horse,  with  my  carpet-bag  hooked  over  the 
horn  of  the  saddle.  My  new  master,  Captain 
Starks,  offered  me  a  cigar  and  told  me  that 
we  should  have  a  famous  trip,  with  the  pros 
pect  of  shooting  a  few  highwaymen.  This 
brightened  me;  but  I  complained  about  the 
carpet-bag,  when  he  laughed  and  said,  "Why, 
you  didn't  expect  that  you'd  have  to  carry  it 
that  way,  did  you?  As  soon  as  we  catch  up, 
we'll  throw  it  into  the  wagon,  and  then  you'll 
be  a  sure-enough  cavalryman.  I  reckon  the 
professor  man  thought  he  had  work  to  per 
suade  me  to  take  you;  but  as  soon  as  I  heard 
you  were  one  of  the  old  feud  Griffins,  I  was 
willing  enough.  And  when  I  pretended  to  be 
disappointed  at  your  size,  I  was  doing  it  just 
for  fun.  I  wanted  to  get  a  glimpse  of  your 
mettle." 


SEEING   THE  WORLD  241 

Our  charge  consisted  of  about  six  hundred 
head  of  mules  and  a  force  of  fourteen  men— 
a  goodly  company  of  horse,  and  needed,  too, 
for  depredations  were  frequent.  Not  long 
before  our  trip  a  mule-drover  and  his  guard 
of  several  men  had  been  set  upon  by  robbers, 
two  of  them  shot,  and  all  of  the  mules  driven 
off.  But  we  were  better  prepared;  and  on 
the  first  night  of  camping  out,  I  could  hardly 
sleep  for  the  pistol  that  lay  on  the  blanket 
beside  me — the  first  revolver  I  had  ever  seen, 
blue-bright,  and  catching  the  rays  of  the  moon, 
reminding  me  of  Nan's  eyes  when,  brimming 
over  with  light,  they  looked  up  at  me  in  the 
dark  shadow  of  the  fence.  Of  course  I  had 
never  been  out  of  Kentucky,  and  I  began  to 
feel  like  a  foreigner  when  we  crossed  the 
Tennessee  line.  Still  there  was  no  suggestion 
of  adventure.  I  spoke  to  Captain  Starks 
about  it,  and  he  told  me  to  wait  until  we  were 
well  down  into  the  pine  woods;  and  I  waited 
impatiently,  as  if  adventure  were  the  sole 
object  of  the  expedition.  Down  among  the 
murmur-gossiping  pines  we  went;  and  now 
for  days  at  a  time  we  saw  no  house,  but  our 
camp  at  night  was  as  quiet  as  an  ordinary 


242  "TURK" 

barnyard.  At  last  we  came  upon  the  great 
cotton  plantations  and  thence  into  the  sugar 
cane  country  where  "Nellie  Gray  toiled  her  life 
away,"  and  we  saw  many  a  white  man  who 
might  have  been  the  one  to  take  her  thither, 
bound  with  his  chain;  but  what  worried  me 
was  that  no  one  tried  to  steal  our  mules. 
Among  the  men  my  disappointment  became  a 
joke,  and  they  called  me  the  hornet. 

One  old  fellow  named  Trigg  remarked  that 
before  I  was  much  older,  the  land  would  hear 
shooting  enough  and  see  blood  till  its  eyes 
were  red  with  weeping;  and  this  reminds  me 
that,  whenever  we  halted  in  a  public  place, 
there  was  going  on  a  grave  discussion.  Old 
men  were  advising  caution,  but  the  younger 
ones  were  using  a  word  that  I  had  never 
heard  before  "secession";  and  when  I  asked  the 
Captain  what  it  meant,  he  shook  his  head  and 
sagely  remarked,  "It  may  mean  hell  breaking 
loose  to  beat  tan  bark."  In  this  there  was  no 
enlightenment,  but  I  pretended  that  there 
was;  and  that  night  I  lay  with  my  pistol 
cocked,  waiting  for  the  first  stroke  upon  the 
tan  bark. 

Now  we  were  in  the  neighborhood  of  New 


SEEING  THE   WORLD  243 

Orleans;  and,  no  matter  how  game  a  country 
man  may  be,  he  approaches  a  great  city  with 
fear  and  caution.  At  school  a  boy  had  told 
me  of  his  trip  to  Cincinnati;  that  some  evil 
men  sewed  him  in  a  sack  and  were  about  to 
toss  him  into  the  river,  when  the  mayor  came 
and  drove  them  away;  but  he  had  to  give  the 
mayor  all  the  money  he  had,  such  being  the 
established  fee  for  deliverance.  Now  I 
wished  that  my  two  old  enemies  of  the  woods 
might  come  along  with  their  sack  or  with 
switches  to  give  me  another  whipping;  and 
there  was  a  chance  that  I  might  encounter 
them,  too;  for  had  not  Riddleberry  Buck  told 
me  that  they  were  engaged  in  transporting 
salt  down  the  river? 

It  was  evening  when  we  entered  the  city, 
and  I  never  afterwards  felt  so  much  afraid 
under  the  fire  of  war  as  I  was  in  that  dazzle 
of  light.  When  the  mules  had  been  turned 
into  a  great  wagon-yard,  we  went  to  a  monster 
hotel  where  more  than  a  hundred  people  were 
eating  supper  in  a  room  so  bright  that  it  hurt 
my  eyes.  After  supper,  in  company  with 
several  of  our  men,  I  walked  about  the  town, 
keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  the  man  with  the 


244  "TURK" 

sack.  We  went  to  a  theater,  and  there  I  was 
in  heaven;  for  a  villain  that  needed  killing,  if 
ever  one  did,  was  stabbed  by  a  woman  whom 
he  had  betrayed.  I  yelled  in  my  wild 
approval,  and  a  man  with  a  star  breastpin 
came  and  told  me  that  if  I  didn't  behave 
myself  he  would  put  me  out.  I  bristled  up 
and  told  him  to  bring  on  his  sack  and  try  to 
sew  me  up  in  it.  Every  one  within  hearing 
laughed,  and  I  felt  that  I  was  a  wit. 

After  the  show  some  of  our  men  began  to 
drink,  and  thirst  came  scorching  hot  upon  me; 
but  I  fought  it  off;  and  when  we  returned  to 
the  hotel,  I  was  so  thankful  for  my  strength 
that  I  should  have  prayed  in  my  room,  and 
didn't  only  because  I  wasn't  acquainted  with 
the  customs  of  the  town.  The  next  morning 
the  Captain  discharged  us,  giving  to  me  more 
money  than  I  had  ever  seen  before,  twenty- 
three  dollars  and  a  half;  and  I  was  about  to 
tell  him  that  he  might  keep  it  if  he  would  give 
me  the  pistol,  when  he  remarked,  "Turk,  on 
your  way  home,  I'm  sure  the  robbers  will  get 
after  you,  so  you'd  better  keep  that  revolver." 

"Do  you  mean  that  I  may  have  it?"  I 
queried,  and  he  nodded. 


SEEING   THE   WORLD  245 

"That's  what  I  mean,"  said  he,  and  an  ocu 
lar  gauze  dropped  between  him  and  me.  But, 
afraid  that  he  might  change  his  mind,  I 
sneaked  away  and  did  not  tell  him  good-bye. 

It  was  my  duty  to  go  home.  No  return 
arrangements  had  been  agreed  upon;  for  we 
had  been  hired  to  go  to  New  Orleans,  but  not 
to  come  back;  and  as  I  had  no  horse,  I  went 
down  to  the  river  to  request  the  privilege  of 
working  my  passage  on  a  steamboat.  On  the 
way  to  the  wharf,  I  met  a  man  who  told  me 
that  he  was  hungry.  He  said  that  he  had 
arrived  in  town  with  plenty  of  money  but  that 
he  had  been  robbed;  and  my  sympathy  went 
out  to  him.  But  not  long  afterward,  when  I 
told  some  one  that  I  had  been  robbed,  there 
was  no  sympathy  for  me.  I  was  laughed  at, 
and  I  sneaked  away.  My  money  was  gone, 
but  I  had  my  pistol  and  was  still  thankful.  I 
can't  recall  how  that  fellow  got  my  money.  I 
think  he  asked  me  to  let  him  count  it;  and 
when  I  handed  it  over,  he  dodged  down  an 
alley  and  was  gone. 

Along  the  wharf  there  were  a  great  array  of 
steamboats  with  their  noses  stuck  together 
into  the  bank,  like  hogs  feeding;  but  nobody 


246  "  TURK  " 

had  time  to  talk  to  me,  and  more  than  once  I 
came  near  being  knocked  into  the  river. 
Finally  a  man  said  that  if  I  would  help  roll  on 
hogsheads  of  sugar,  he  would  take  me  as  far 
as  Memphis,  the  end  of  his  voyage;  and  I 
thought  him  exceptionally  kind.  But  the 
next  moment  he  swore  at  me  and  commanded 
me  to  take  hold.  Cursed  me!  I  whipped 
about  and  was  in  for  a  fight,  when  an  Irish 
man  ran  up  and  told  me  not  to  take  it  to 
heart,  that  the  man  was  the  mate  and  always 
talked  like  that. 

"Why,"  said  he,  "I  hearrud  him  say  to  the 
wife  of  him,  'Dairlant,  ye  damn  fool,  come  to 
dinner.'  "  This  eased  my  anger,  and  I  went  to 
work. 

The  Irishman  was  a  good  fellow.  He  made 
it  as  light  for  me  as  he  could;  and  at  night, 
when  we  slept  on  the  deck,  he  shared  his 
blanket  with  me.  But  my  work  did  not  con 
tinue  long.  On  the  morning  of  the  second 
day  I  was  seized  with  a  fever;  and  upon 
reaching  Memphis,  they  had  to  carry  me 
ashore.  In  the  shade  of  a  shed  they  placed 
me,  and  the  Irishman  went  away.  After  a 
time  there  came  two  women  with  sweet  faces, 


SEEING   THE   WORLD  247 

sisters  of  chanty,  and  they  took  me  to  a  hos 
pital,  where  I  remained  for  nearly  four 
months. 

When  I  was  able  to  get  about,  they  got  me 
some  light  work  to  do.  I  told  one  of  the  sis 
ters  that  I  would  work  until  I  got  enough 
money  to  pay  them,  no  matter  if  it  took  ten 
years;  but  she  smiled  and  said  that  I  owed 
nothing,  nor  would  she  hear  of  taking  a  cent 
from  me.  More  than  a  dozen  times  did  I  try 
to  write  to  the  professor;  but,  always  afraid 
that  Nan  might  see  the  letter  and  laugh  at  it, 
I  gave  up  all  attempt.  Once  I  thought  of  sell 
ing  my  pistol  for  enough  money  to  take  me 
home,  but  shook  off  the  prompting,  not  as  a 
temptation  but  as  a  chill.  In  town  there  was 
no  work  for  which  I  was  fitted,  and  I  went 
into  the  country  and  hired  out  to  a  planter. 
He  was  kind  to  me,  but  the  overseer  looked 
upon  me  as  if  I  were  a  negro,  and  quietly  I 
waited  for  a  reasonable  excuse  to  teach  him 
better.  He  must  have  seen  something  in  my 
jaundiced  eye,  for  he  never  gave  me  sufficient 
cause  to  kill  him. 

During  seven  months  I  worked  from  dawn 
till  dark,  and  finally,  with  new  clothes  and  the 


248  "TURK" 

first  pair  of  thin  shoes  I  had  ever  owned,  I 
got  on  my  first  railway  train.  To  whiz  across 
the  country  in  the  direction  of  home  was  a 
delight,  but  what  was  waiting  for  me?  Noth 
ing  but  hard  work  and  low  wages.  Still,  it 
was  home,  and  I  was  not  yet  free  from  the 
legal  bonds  that  held  me.  I  had  been  gone 
more  than  a  year.  And  it  must  be  that  some 
times  a  fever  causes  a  boy  to  grow,  for  the 
one  pair  of  trousers  brought  from  home  was 
now  too  short,  and  of  this  I  was  rather  proud. 
I  felt  that  Nan  must  notice  my  added  height, 
and  I  didn't  know  but  that  her  father  might 
increase  my  wages.  In  the  fact  that  I  had 
seen  the  city  and  had  traveled  on  a  great 
steamboat  I  took  pride,  and  surely  the  girl 
could  not  laugh  at  my  adventures,  particularly 
when  I  should  tell  her  that  I  had  been  robbed, 
and  that  two  ladies  with  sweet  faces  had  taken 
me  to  a  hospital  more  than  twice  as  big  as 
our  barn. 

The  train  took  me  to  Louisville,  where  there 
was  another  dazzle  of  lights,  but  I  had  now 
grown  world-wise  and  was  not  astonished  at 
them.  An  old  man  grinding  a  thing  that 
groaned  out  a  sort  of  tune  held  a  cup  out  at 


SEEING  THE   WORLD  249 

me,  and  I  told  him  that  I  could  count  my  own 
money,  what  little  I  had;  but  he  called  on 
God  to  bless  me,  and  I  gave  him  ten  cents. 
Another  railroad  ran  out  of  Louisville,  some 
what  in  the  direction  of  Scoville,  but  missing 
that  town  by  about  fifteen  miles,  so  I  decided 
to  go  as  far  as  possible  and  then  walk.  They 
put  me  off  at  a  station  in  the  woods  where 
there  was  a  great  array  of  tan  bark  stacked 
up,  and  I  thought  of  Captain  Starks  and  won 
dered  what  had  become  of  him.  My  way  now 
lay  through  the  woods,  off  to  the  left,  toward 
Scoville,  and  with  a  stick  thrust  through  the 
"ears"  of  my  carpet-bag  I  set  out.  A  killing 
frost  had  fallen,  and  slowly  the  leaves  were 
fluttering  down  through  the  mellow  air.  The 
glitter  of  spring  and  the  dazzling  shine  of 
summer  had  departed  from  the  streams,  leav 
ing  them  a  luminous  amber;  and  the  wild 
grape  was  ripe  on  the  vine  where  the  yellow- 
hammer  fluttered.  Along  the  top  rail  of  a 
fence  the  gray  squirrel  ran  so  swiftly  that  his 
tail  seemed  a  long  streak  of  fringe;  and  down 
from  the  billowless  ocean  of  blue  came  the 
caw  of  the  crow. 

My  course  lay  through  Scoville;   but  in  the 


250  "TURK" 

town  I  did  not  intend  to  halt,  for  the  nearer 
I  drew  the  more  anxious  I  was  to  reach  home. 
Out  of  a  hundred  recollections  came  little 
thrills,  emotion  pictures  of  times  gone  by;  and 
many  a  look  and  many  a  tone  of  voice  came 
out  of  that  short  past  which  then  had  seemed 
so  long. 

There  had  been  a  day  when  to  me  Scoville 
was  a  wilderness  of  urban  mysteries.  The 
buildings  were  palatial,  and  the  streets  were 
endless;  but  now,  since  my  travels,  the  town 
was  but  a  blotch  upon  a  gullied  hillside.  But 
as  hunger  had  for  several  hours  kept  company 
with  me,  I  entered  a  tumble-down  shanty, 
above  whose  door  "Snack  House"  was  writ 
ten,  and  sitting  down  at  the  end  of  a  long 
table  asked  for  something  to  eat,  when  a 
voice  cried  out,  "Hello,  you!"  and  up  came 
Nick  Bowles,  wearing  among  other  flashes  of 
fashion  a  red  necktie  adorned  with  a  lump  of 
glass.  Before  I  could  get  upon  my  feet,  he 
took  my  hand  and  swaggered  over  me,  and  I 
felt  that  he  must  have  advanced  in  the  world's 
favor. 

"Keep  your  seat,"  he  said  and,  turning  to 
the  negro  waiter,  commanded  him  to  bring 


SEEING  THE  WORLD  251 

forth  the  best  he  had,  which  I  soon  found  out 
was  also  the  worst.  "Make  yourself  at  home 
here,"  said  Nick;  and  having  railed  at  the 
negro,  turned  to  me  again  with,  "I  don't 
reckon  you've  been  back  long  enough  to  hear 
about  my  good  luck." 

I  swaggered  becomingly  and  replied  that  I 
was  just  returning  from  my  travels.  At  the 
word  "travels"  he  sniffed  somewhat  loftily  and 
remarked  that  a  man  could  very  often  do  bet 
ter  by  not  going  away  from  home. 

"You  spoke  of  your  luck,"  said  I,  "what  are 
you  doing?" 

"What  am  I  doing?  Ask  any  man  in  town. 
Why,  I'm  bartender  over  at  the  Gem  Saloon. 
For  a  while  after  comin'  here  I  worked  at  a 
livery  stable,  but  after  a  month  or  so  I  got  the 
job  of  scrubbin'  around  the  Gem;  and  when 
the  bartender  got  killed,  I  took  his  place 
while  the  boss  was  hidin'  out  from  the  grand 
jury,  and  when  he  come  back,  he  put  me  on 
regular.  Git  through  with  your  dinner  and 
come  over  and  see." 

"I'd  rather  go  into  a  den  of  rattlesnakes,"  I 
replied. 

Smiling  at  me,  he  said,  "Sho'  'nuff  ?     Well, 


252  "TURK" 

that's  where  you  and  me  are  different.  I've 
got  so  I  can  take  just  so  many  drinks  a  day 
and  not  git  too  much.  You  could  git  that 
way,  too,  if  you'd  try.  By  the  way,  I  drove  by 
the  professor's  last  Sunday,  and  I  would  have 
stopped,  but  there  didn't  appear  to  be  nobody 
at  home.  But  Sam  Hawkins  was  out  there 
not  long  ago,  and  he  tells  me  that  Nan  is  as 
putty  as  a  peach;  but  he  'lowed  she  was  high- 
headeder  than  a  blooded  colt  in  a  pasture." 

I  pretended  to  pay  no  attention,  and  after  a 
time  I  asked  him  if  he  ever  heard  from 
Preacher  Hoover. 

"Yes,  sir,  got  a  letter  from  him  not  long  ago 
with  a  couple  of  twenty-dollar  notes  in  it.  I 
reckon  he's  makin'  money  up  there  a  lecturin' 
to  the  Yankees.  Well,  I'm  up  in  the  world 
and  don't  need  his  money,  still  it  will  take 
him  a  good  while  at  that  rate  to  pay  for  my 
daddy,  and  I'll  pocket  all  the  money  he's  a 
mind  to  send.  Say,  if  you  are  goin'  out  to 
the  professor's,  I'll  hitch  up  and  drive  you. 
It's  election  day  in  town,  and  our  saloon  is 
closed  up." 

I  was  tired,  the  hinges  of  my  knees  seemed 
rusty,  and  my  feet  were  heavy;  but  I  told  him 


SEEING   THE   WORLD  253 

that  I  preferred  to  walk.  He  argued  with 
me;  but  I  was  firm,  and  shouldering  my 
carpet-bag,  I  hastened  away,  fearing  that  he 
and  my  own  weariness  might  tempt  me  to 
drive  with  him. 

Coming  upon  the  professor's  land  along 
toward  evening,  I  saw  that  the  fields  had  been 
laid  off  about  as  they  were  the  year  before — 
corn  in  the  same  place  and  tobacco  on  the 
upland,  where  I  had  toiled  so  hard.  As  I 
approached  the  barn,  there  was  a  great  cack 
ling  of  hens,  and  then  my  heart  beat  high,  for 
out  came  a  figure  in  a  long  dress,  with  apron 
gathered  up  in  front.  It  was  Nan. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  HIGH  RIG 

HERE  she  stood,  radiant  in  the  rays 
of  the  sinking  sun;  and  as  now  I 
look  back  upon  her,  she  seems 
ever  to  have  been  in  the  sun  or  the 
moon.  She  did  not  see  me  until  I  spoke, 
within  a  few  feet  of  her,  when  she  turned 
about,  and  with  no  sign  of  surprise  said,  "I've 
got  thirteen  eggs." 

"One  for  each  month  I  was  away,"  I  replied, 
and  with  her  old  laugh  she.  said,  "No,  they 
ain't  crow  eggs." 

I  offered  my  hand,  but  she  gathered  up  the 
eggs  as  if  she  did  not  see  me;  and  together 
we  walked  along  toward  the  house,  not  nearly 
so  well  acquainted  as  we  had  been — almost 
strangers,  it  seemed  to  me.  I  spoke  of  her 
long  dress,  and  she  said  it  was  time  to  put  it 
on,  as  she  had  "set  out,"  and  that  ever  so 
many  young  men  were  coming  to  see  her. 

"Don't  you  think  I've  grown   a  good  deal 

since  I  left?" 

254 


THE  MAN  IN  THE   HIGH  RIG         255 

She  looked  at  me.  "Who,  you?  Why,  you 
couldn't  grow.  You  are  too  little."  But  I 
saw  that  she  did  to  herself  acknowledge  that 
I  had  grown,  for  she  surveyed  me  from  head 
to  foot.  "And  my,  such  new  clothes !"  she 
said.  "You  look  almost  like  a  gentleman. 
No,  I  won't  go  that  far,  but  you  do  look  a 
heap  better  than  you  did.  Oh,  and  before  we 
get  to  the  house,  let  me  tell  you  something. 
Amy  is  at  home  and  ain't  going  back  to  school 
again,  for  she  is  engaged  to  one  of  the  pro 
fessors;  and  he  wrote  to  father,  and  father 
wrote  to  him  and  called  him  all  sorts  of  names 
and  said  he'd  shoot  him  if  he  ever  came  here; 
and  yesterday  Amy  got  a  letter  from  him,  and 
he  said  he  was  coming  no  matter  if  they  shot 
him  full  of  lead.  Ain't  he  brave?  Don't  you 
wish  you  were  that  brave?  Ha,  don't  you? 
Of  course  you  do.  And  in  the  night  mother 
cries  and  comes  and  kneels  down  at  our  bed 
and  puts  her  arms  around  Amy,  and  then  they 
both  cry.  Ain't  that  lovely?  Why,  you  know 
Amy  is  old  enough  to  get  married.  She  is 
eighteen,  and  that  means  she  will  soon  be 
an  old  maid,  and  wouldn't  that  be  terrible?  I 
don't  want  to  be  the  sister  of  an  old  maid. 


256  "  TURK  " 

Would  you?  But,  of  course,  with  you  it 
would  be  different,  for  if  you  had  any  sisters 
all  of  them  would  be  old  maids,  wouldn't 
they?  I  told  Amy  she  ought  to  run  away; 
and  I  wish  she  would.  It  would  be  such  fun 
to  see  her  climbing  out  of  the  window  and  to 
hear  her  professor  sighing  out  in  the  dark. 
Amy  says  he  sighs  all  the  time,  and  she  is 
afraid  he  will  die;  but  I  don't  think  he  will. 
Father  said  he  was  an  infamous  scoundrel; 
and  then  he  and  mother  had  a  quarrel,  and 
mother  cried.  I  never  saw  so  much  crying  in 
my  life.  I  told  mother  we  must  be  going  to 
have  a  dry  season  because  this  one  was  so 
wet,  and  she  threatened  to  box  my  ears.  Oh, 
we've  had  such  a  time." 

The  professor  was  standing  at  the  gate,  evi 
dently  watching  for  Amy's  lover;  and  when, 
with  a  loud  call,  he  greeted  me,  Mrs.  Emory 
came  out  and,  seeing  me,  ran  and  put  her 
arms  about  me.  The  professor  grabbed  me 
by  the  hand  and  said  that  I  had  come  back  in 
good  time,  that  he  might  have  need  of  my 
moon-light  vigils  and  my  gunpowder;  and 
then  out  came  Amy  with  her  face  pale  and 
her  eyes  red,  for  she  must  have  had  a  fresh 


THE  MAN  IN   THE  HIGH  RIG         257 

spell  of  weeping.  She  didn't  say  any 
thing  as  she  took  my  hand,  but  her  lips 
moved,  and  then  she  turned  away  and  hid  her 
eyes. 

In  a  few  words  I  told  the  professor  why  I 
had  remained  away  so  long;  and  when  he 
asked  why  I  had  not  written,  I  told  him  the 
truth,  though  Nan  stood  there.  At  the  sup 
per  table  I  entertained  them  with  my  adven 
tures;  and  when  I  came  to  the  sisters  of 
charity,  Amy  cried  out  that  she  was  going  to 
be  a  nun.  Mrs.  Emory's  tears  began  to  fall, 
and  upon  his  plate  the  professor  threw  down 
his  knife  with  a  loud  clang.  He  got  up  and 
walked  away,  and  Mrs.  Emory  told  me  that 
they  were  all  so  miserable,  and  then  Amy 
joined  in  with  her  tears.  Between  the  flurries 
there  were  calms,  during  which  we  talked  of 
things  gone  and  things  hoped  for,  but  not  long 
at  a  time,  for  some  word  always  fell  to  bring 
about  another  flurry  of  grief. 

Bedtime  promised  to  come  in  a  calm,  and 
with  a  sense  of  gratitude  in  my  heart,  I  slipped 
out  and  made  a  cross  mark  on  the  door  of  the 
smokehouse.  Shortly  afterward  the  girls 
went  out  to  look  for  a  hen  that  had  led  her 


258  "TURK" 

late  brood  away  from  the  fold  of  safety. 
They  found  her  in  a  corner  of  the  fence 
where  soon,  no  doubt,  she  would  have  been 
prey  for  a  prowling  fox — in  the  very  corner 
where  one  night  Nan  and  I  had  stood,  waiting 
not  for  foxes,  but  for  wolves  that  came  howl 
ing  through  the  woods.  It  was  a  long  time 
since  a  fresh  mark  had  been  made  on  that 
door,  but  when  I  went  up  to  my  garret  room, 
there  on  my  box  lay  a  book  and  a  new  candle. 
In  my  heart  I  blessed  the  poor  girl  whose  soul 
was  now  so  full  of  trouble;  and  early  the  fol 
lowing  morning  I  began  to  thank  her,  but  she 
turned  away,  and  as  soft  words  seemed  ever 
to  call  for  her  tears,  I  no  further  strove  to 
speak  my  gratitude. 

The  day  started  out  well.  The  season  had 
been  good,  labor  fair,  and  the  crops  were 
large.  Tobacco  was  going  up  in  price,  and  a 
drouth  in  the  West  had  made  corn  an  article 
of  cash  value.  Mrs.  Emory  smiled  as  the 
professor  talked  of  building  a  new  house. 
Nan  said  that  they  were  going  to  build  a 
church  near  the  grove  where  Mr.  Hoover  had 
preached,  a  church  and  schoolhouse  com 
bined,  almost  as  big  as  a  college;  but  at  the 


THE  MAN  IN  THE   HIGH  RIG         259 

word  college  the  professor  looked  dark,  Amy 
sighed,  and  then  came  another  flurry. 

So  shortly  returned  from  so  long  an 
absence,  it  was  not  expected  that  I  should  go 
to  work  at  once,  so  stealing  off  I  went  over  to 
visit  my  old  friend  Champ  Jones. 

I  found  him  behind  his  cabin,  skinning  a 
mink  that  his  trap  had  snapped  up  the  night 
before,  and  he  thrust  forth  his  hand  and  gave 
me  a  tight  squeeze. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  said,  as  if  I  had  been  a  man 
six  feet  high,  "we  missed  you  around  here. 
As  the  world  grows  older,  true  worth  becomes 
a  scarcer  article,  I  tell  you;  and  when  a  fellow 
drops  out  of  sight,  it  is  then  we  begin  to  know 
how  much  we  valued  him.  Of  course,  you're 
not  old  enough  yet  to  understand  this,  but  the 
time  will  come — yes,  sir,  it  will  come.  Take 
hold  of  this  gentleman's  soft  shirt  and  help 
me  pull  it  off.  That's  it.  Don't  blame  him 
for  not  wanting  to  lose  his  garment;  but  I 
don't  suppose  he  would  mind  pulling  off  mine 
if  he  were  able." 

I  asked  him  about  his  political  bible,  the 
New  York  Tribune,  and  knowingly  he  shook 
his  grizzled  head.  "Well,  sir,  it  is  bringing 


260  "  TURK  " 

things  to  a  focus.  You've  heard  of  George 
D.  Prentice,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  heard  some  men  away  down  South 
talk  about  him." 

"Well,  you  know  he  came  to  Kentucky  to 
write  the  life  of  Henry  Clay;  and  as  editor  of 
the  Louisville  Journal  I  think  he  would  advo 
cate  abolition  if  he  dared,  but  it  would  mean 
the  mobbing  of  his  office.  Of  course  he  pre 
tends  to  shoot  at  Greeley  once  in  a  while,  but 
he  usually  ends  up  with  some  hidden  compli 
ment.  Lord  a  mercy,  though,  how  he  does 
harpoon  old  Brownlow!  Let  me  wash  my 
hands,  and  we'll  go  in  and  sit  down.  Take 
that  gourd  and  pour  me  some  water." 

When  we  went  into  the  house,  he  showed 
me  the  biggest  double-barrel  shotgun  I  ever 
saw.  It  was  a  duck  gun,  to  be  used  in  a  boat, 
and  would  chamber  ten  buck-shot  at  least. 
"And  you'll  notice  several  holes  around  in  the 
wall  where  I  can  thrust  it  out.  Our  com 
munity  hasn't  improved  morally  since  you  left, 
and  one  of  these  nights  the  prowlers  may  come 
after  me — that  is,  if  they  like." 

While  we  were  talking,  a  rig  with  high 
wheels  stopped  in  the  road,  and  a  man  called 


THE   MAN  IN  THE  HIGH  RIG         261 

out  to  us.  We  went  forth,  and  a  youngish- 
looking  fellow  asked  if  we  would  give  him  a 
drink  of  water.  Hereupon  old  Champ, 
remarking  that  the  water  in  the  pail  was  not 
fresh,  poured  it  on  the  ground  and  set  out  for 
the  spring,  while  the  man  sat  there  looking 
about  as  if  he  were  in  a  strange  country.  I 
asked  him  if  he  were  going  far,  and  he  smiled 
agreeably,  showing  gold  in  his  teeth,  and  said 
that  he  might  go  further  than  he  wished.  I 
didn't  understand  such  talk  as  this  and  told 
him  so,  but  he  smiled  again  and  asked  if  I 
knew  a  certain  Professor  Emory. 

"I  live  at  his  house,  sir." 

"Ah,  you  don't  tell  me!  And  in  that  event, 
I  presume,  you  must  be  acquainted  with  his 
daughter." 

"He  has  two  daughters,  sir,"  I  replied. 

"I  refer  to  his  daughter — Amy."  He  hesi 
tated,  as  if  the  name  were  sacred  to  him,  and 
I  knew  that  her  professor  was  before  me. 
"Have  you  heard  any  talk  derogatory  to  my 
interest — since  a  certain  letter,  which  indeed 
you  may  not  know  was  written,  but  which,  I 
assure  you,  was  written  and  that,  too,  in  most 
threatening  terms.  Have  you?" 


262  "  TURK  " 

"I  have  heard  a  good  deal  of  talk,  sir,  but 
the  girl  loves  you;  and  if  I  were  in  your  place, 
it  wouldn't  make  any  difference  to  me  how 
much  they  talked  or  threatened,  I'd  go  there 
and  carry  her  off." 

"Bless  my  soul!  Young  man,  give  me  your 
hand.  Ah,  you  must  be  the  young  man,  Turk. 
I  have  heard — Amy  speak  of  you." 

Old  Champ  returned  with  the  water  and 
offered  a  gourd  dripping  full.  The  young 
man  drank,  made  a  bow,  which  I  should  have 
liked  to  copy  before  Nan,  returned  the  gourd, 
and  inquired  if  I  should  like  to  ride  with  him. 
To  leave  Champ  without  any  explanation 
would  be  rude,  I  thought,  so  turning  to  the 
new  professor  I  said,  "This  man  is  a  friend  of 
the  family.  Tell  him  what  you  have  come 
for." 

"Ah,  rather  a  blunt  way  to  express  it,  I  am 
sure.  However —  Here  he  looked  at 

Champ,  "Go  ahead,"  commanded  the  old 
man,  and  the  professor  explained  that  he  was 
in  love  with  Emory's  daughter,  and  that  he 
was  going  to  urge  his  suit.  It  was  the  first 
time  I  had  heard  it  put  that  way — urging  a 
suit — and  I  laughed;  but  the  collegiate  lover 


THE  MAN   IN  THE  HIGH  RIG         263 

looked  grave  and  said  that  it  was  surely  not  a 
matter  to  excite  mirth.  Then  I  told  him  that 
I  was  very  ignorant  and  that  he  must  pardon 
me,  which  he  did  with  a  vigorous  shake  of 
my  hand.  He  told  us  that  his  name  was 
Kirkpatrick,  which  struck  with  favor  upon  my 
ear,  as  the  Irishman  who  had  been  so  kind  to 
me  was  named  Patrick.  He  asked  if  we 
should  drive  straight  up  to  the  house,  and  I 
told  him  yes,  as  soon  as  we  got  back  into  the 
main  road,  from  which  he  had  wandered.  I 
got  into  his  high  rig,  and  on  we  went. 

"I  can't  understand  his  objections,"  said  the 
collegian.  "My  family  is,  I  am  sure,  as  good' 
as  his,  and  besides  he  has  never  seen  me. 
Ah,  can  you  not  devise  some  method  of 
approach  other  than  driving  up  to  the  gate?" 
Then  came  to  me  an  idea  that  I  fancied  might 
work  well. 

"Let  me  get  out  and  go  in  advance  and  sit 
about  as  if  nothing  was  going  to  happen.  In 
the  meantime  I'll  tell  Miss  Amy  that  you  are 
coming,  and  at  the  proper  time  you  drive  up 
and  ask  to  stay  all  night.  You  can  give  any 
sort  of  name  you  please,  and  the  next  day 
you  needn't  be  in  a  hurry  to  get  off.  You  can 


264  "TURK" 

soon  find  out  what  the  professor  likes  to  talk 
about.  It  wouldn't  be  bad  if  you  hinted  some 
thing  about  abolition." 

"Young  man,  you  are  a  general.  I  shall  do 
as  you  say." 

So,  when  we  were  within  a  mile  of  the  pro 
fessor's  house,  I  got  out  and  cut  across  a  near 
way.  The  afternoon  was  soft,  the  mellow  lag- 
end  of  Indian  summer,  and  the  family  sat  out 
beneath  the  great  oak  tree.  Supposing  that  I 
had  been  over  to  Champ's,  the  professor  asked 
how  the  old  man  was  getting  along,  and  I  told 
him  about  the  duck  gun,  and  he  laughed  and 
said  that  one  of  these  nights  was  to  mark  a  sad 
epoch  in  the  history  of  night  prowlers.  After 
a  time  Amy  went  into  the  house  to  fetch 
something,  and  I  followed  her.  When  I  told 
her  my  news  she  almost  fainted,  and  of 
course  she  was  frightened  at  my  plan,  but 
agreed  to  act  her  part,  and  shortly  afterward, 
when  we  were  again  beneath  the  tree,  she  said, 
"I  wonder  who  that  is  coming  along  yonder." 

"He's  got  a  shining  turn-out,"  said  the  pro 
fessor.  "Think  I  saw  that  same  rig  over  at 
Scoville  the  other  day.  Hello,  he's  going  to 
stop." 


265 

The  professor  went  out  to  the  gate  and 
soon  returned  with  the  stranger,  who  bowed 
awkwardly  and  said  that  he  wanted  to  stay  all 
night.  From  a  most  polished  gentleman  he 
had  become  blunt,  but  with  it  all  he  appeared 
to  be  frank;  and  I  knew  that  he  would  soon 
please  the  professor.  He  was  selling  Bibles, 
he  said;  at  a  house  not  far  down  the  road  he 
had  sold  the  last  one,  "but,  Madam,"  he  added, 
speaking  to  Mrs.  Emory,  "as  soon  as  I  return 
to  Cincinnati,  I  shall  have  one  of  our  hand 
somest  sent  to  you." 

Mrs.  Emory  said  that  he  was  very  kind,  she 
was  sure,  and  Amy  asked  him  if  he  had  any 
Sunday-school  books.  He  was  sorry,  but  his 
house  printed  truth,  not  fiction;  and  the  pro 
fessor  laughed. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  said  he. 
"Of  all  the  trash  the  world  ever  saw,  the 
trashiest  is  the  average  Sunday-school  book. 
It  would  be  far  better  if  they  should  stock 
their  libraries  with  'Vicars  of  Wakefield'  and 
'Tom  Joneses.'  We  had  a  church  to  burn 
down  some  time  ago,  sir,  and  out  of  it  arose 
one  good,  the  destruction  of  books  that  dis 
graced  the  printer's  art.  Perhaps  you  may 


266  "TURK" 

have  heard  of  a  preacher  named  Hoover. 
He  left  this  community  rather  hastily,  to  save 
his  life,  he  thought,  and  is  now  settled  in  your 
city." 

The  visitor  had  heard  of  him,  "a  most 
eccentric  and  suddenly-spoken  man."  "Some 
where,"  said  he,  "I  read  one  of  his  sermons  in 
which  he  was  firm  in  the  old  faith  of  infant 
condemnation;"  and  then  I  knew  that  the 
sentiment  of  Mrs.  Emory's  letters  to  her 
daughter  had  found  lodgment  in  him. 

"Ah,  I  hope,"  spoke  the  good  woman,  "that 
you  did  not  subscribe  to  those  heartless 
views." 

"Far  be  it  from  me,"  replied  the  visitor. 
Then  he  begged  pardon  for  not  having  intro 
duced  himself.  His  name  was  Kirk,  he  said; 
upon  which  the  professor  shook  hands  with 
him,  while  Mrs.  Emory  bowed  and  said  that 
he  was  welcome  at  her  house. 

I  was  sent  to  back  the  high  rig  under  the 
shed  and  to  put  up  the  horses,  and  when  I 
returned,  Mr.  Kirk  and  the  family  were  on  the 
easiest  of  terms.  Abolition  was  just  about 
slyly  to  creep  into  their  talk;  when,  looking 
about  as  if  afraid  of  evil  ears,  Mr.  Kirk 


THE   MAN  IN  THE  HIGH  RIG         267 

remarked  that  the  devil's  chosen  children 
were  appointed  to  sell  the  humble  flesh  and 
blood  of  the  Lord's  down-trodden,  which 
caused  the  professor  to  beam  upon  him. 

"Let  me  show  you  my  farm,"  said  he,  and 
together  they  walked  away;  and  Mrs.  Emory, 
looking  after  them  as  they  crossed  the  road 
into  the  field,  remarked  upon  her  pleasure  at 
seeing  her  husband  again  interested  in  the 
general  affairs  of  life. 

We  all  of  us  were  soon  astir  to  prepare  the 
best  supper  possible,  Mrs.  Emory  remarking 
that  it  was  always  agreeable  to  have  visitors 
from  the  intelligent  world.  And  she  added 
that  she  thought  Mr.  Kirk  an  exceedingly 
handsome  man.  Amy  had  not  taken  particu 
lar  notice  of  his  looks,  but  she  thought  that 
his  voice  was  musical;  and  looking  out  I  saw 
shrewd  Nan,  standing  half-hidden  behind  a 
tree,  laughing.  When  I  moved  towards  her, 
she  threw  a  piece  of  bark  in  my  face  and  ran 
away,  all  of  a  giggle,  her  unaccustomed  long 
skirt  tangling  about  her  ankles. 

I  followed,  calling  on  her  to  stop,  which  she 
did  at  the  door  of  the  carpenter  shop;  and 
there  I  made  a  confidante  of  her.  She  moved 


268 

back  inside  the  shop,  tossed  up  a  handful  of 
shavings,  ran  under  the  shower,  and  with  the 
blond  curls  of  poplar  clinging  to  her  black 
ringlets,  she  ran  out,  declaring  that  she  was 
going  to  tell.  I  followed  her  to  the  dining- 
room,  but  upon  entering  I  found  her  as  sober 
as  a  matron.  After  a  time  she  made  a  sign  to 
Amy,  they  went  out,  and  I  saw  them  hugging 
each  other  in  the  yard. 

We  sat  up  late  that  night,  and  when  the  old 
clock  struck  one,  the  professor  said  to  Mr. 
Kirk,  "You  are  not  going  to  leave  us  to-mor 
row,  sir.  It  is  with  truth  that  I  say  that  not 
for  more  than  a  year  have  I  been  so  enter 
tained.  You  say  that  you  are  to  await  orders 
sent  from  your  house  to  Scoville.  Be  our 
guest  until  that  time." 

"It  may  be  more  than  a  week,"  Mr.  Kirk 
replied,  and  the  professor  heartily  rejoined, 
"And  suppose,  sir,  that  it  should  be  two 
weeks?  You  are  welcome  here." 

Thus  it  was  agreed  that  Mr.  Kirk  should  be 
our  guest  as  long  as  he  could  possibly  remain; 
and  while  I  was  prowling  about  in  the  dark  I 
passed  the  hen-house,  where,  by  the  light  of  the 
lantern,  the  professor  and  his  wife  were  seeing 


THE   MAN  IN  THE  HIGH  RIG         269 

that  the  chickens  were  safely  housed,  and 
there  I  heard  them  talking. 

"He  may  be  only  a  book-agent  now,"  said 
the  professor,  "but  the  time  is  coming  when 
we  shall  hear  more  of  him;"  and  in  my  mind 
I  entered  no  dispute.  "And  see  with  what 
indifference  our  daughters  regard  him,"  the 
professor  went  on.  "But  it  is  always  the  way, 
a  woman's  eye  is  blind  to  real  worth." 

"I  discovered  your  worth,  Walter.  There 
is  one  chicken  of  this  brood  missing.  No, 
here  it  is." 

"Women  were  different  then,  my  dear." 

The  next  morning  Amy  wanted  to  visit  a 
friend  in  Scoville,  and  Mr.  Kirk  kindly  offered 
to  drive  her  thither  in  his  high  rig.  When 
they  drove  off,  Nan  ran  into  the  carpenter 
shop  again.  They  did  not  return  until  late  in 
the  afternoon,  and  then  they  appeared  to  be  a 
little  better  acquainted.  Kirk  got  me  off  to 
one  side  and  offered  me  money,  but  a  moment 
later  he  apologized.  He  was  but  half-way  out 
of  his  difficulty,  he  said;  the  professor  must 
surely  resent  the  deception.  When  I  told 
him  to  marry  Amy  and  then  make  himself 
known,  he  shook  his  head  and  declared  that 


270  "TURK" 

such  a  course  would  never  do.  On  the  fol 
lowing  night  he  took  Amy  to  a  revival  meet 
ing  away  over  at  Mt.  Zion,  and  the  professor 
and  his  wife  were  pleased.  It  was  now  evi 
dent  that  she  was  growing  fond  of  Mr.  Kirk, 
and  I  fancied  that  I  heard  Mrs.  Emory  mur 
mur  her  surprise  at  her  daughter's  fickleness, 
for  which  she  had  cause,  as  not  since  the  com 
ing  of  Mr.  Kirk  had  there  been  any  tears. 
And  it  was  not  a  fancy,  but  a  fact,  that  I  heard 
the  professor  say,  "Let  her  alone.  She  surely 
ought  to  know  her  own  mind." 

I  had  not  been  set  to  any  regular  employ 
ment.  In  truth,  there  was  not  much  work  to 
be  done  at  this  season  of  the  year,  but  with 
hauling  wood  for  cold  weather  and  practicing 
with  my  revolver,  I  was  not  likely  to  lose  my 
sense  of  industry.  And  then  there  was  my 
circulating  library.  Since  Amy's  return  it  had 
been  well  supplied,  and  though  now  the  pro 
fessor  would  have  forced  no  objection  to  my 
reading,  yet  to  steal  the  time  by  the  light  of  a 
candle  was  sweeter,  and  so  I  kept  up  the 
practice. 

One  night  I  went  over  to  old  Champ's  to 
look  at  his  duck  gun  again.  I  told  him  of 


THE   MAN  IN  THE  HIGH  RIG        271 

Kirk's  progress,  at  which  the  old  man  laughed 
till  he  had  to  lean  far  over  to  get  the  ache  out 
of  his  side,  and  so  pleased  was  he  at  the  confi 
dence  I  had  placed  in  him  that  he  offered  to 
let  me  fire  his  gun.  So,  thrusting  the  mon 
strous  thing  through  one  of  the  holes  cut  for 
its  use,  I  fired  it  into  the  woods;  and  as  old 
Champ  was  helping  me  off  the  floor  where  I 
had  been  sprawled,  he  asked  me  how  I  liked 
it.  I  remember  to  have  growled  that,  if  both 
ends  were  equal,  he  could  put  himself  and 
his  enemies  out  of  the  way  at  the  same 
time. 

It  was  late  when  I  returned  home,  but  the 
professor  and  Mr.  Kirk  were  up,  talking  on 
subjects  that  I  did  not  understand.  Once  in 
a  while  they  would  dispute,  and  then  I  would 
fear  that  their  agreeable  ties  were  broken; 
but  afterward  I  discovered  that  this  was  the 
way  with  schoolmen  who  had  theories  to 
uphold.  They  talked  about  books,  and  I 
wondered  why  some  of  these  had  lived  so 
long,  being  so  worthless;  but  I  was  pleased 
when  they  agreed  that  a  certain  book  which 
had  just  come  out  was  an  immortal  piece  of 
work.  The  fact  that  it  died  many  years  ago, 


272  "  TURK  " 

and  that  its  author  is  now  unknown,  makes  no 
difference;  I  was  glad  then  to  know  that  it 
was  immortal. 

This  was  on  a  Saturday;  and  just  after  a 
spat  more  threatening  than  any  that  had  gone 
before,  the  two  men  agreed  that  they  would 
go  to  church  next  day  at  Scoville,  where  a 
great  preacher  from  the  South  was  to  prove 
to  the  satisfaction  of  slave-owners  that  slavery 
was  ordained  by  the  Lord.  It  was  settled 
that  Mr.  Kirk  and  Amy  were  to  drive  in  the 
high  rig  and  that  the  rest  of  us  should  go  in 
the  barouche;  and  this  arrangement  was  to 
my  liking,  for  the  professor,  still  having  a 
poor  opinion  of  my  driving,  would  sit  in  front 
with  his  wife,  leaving  the  rear  seat  to  Nan 
and  me.  We  were  to  take  luncheon  with  us, 
to  be  eaten  at  a  spring,  coming  back;  and  by 
daylight  the  next  morning  the  women  folk 
were  busy  frying  chicken.  Just  as  the  sun 
was  coming  up,  Nan  caught  me  shaving 
myself  in  the  carpenter  shop. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "you  think  you're  a  man, 
now,  don't  you?" 

"I'm  as  much  of  a  man  as  you  are  of  a 
woman." 


THE   MAN  IN  THE  HIGH  RIG         273 

"You  might  study  a  year  and  you  couldn't 
say  a  more  foolish  thing  than  that." 

"The  longer  I  study  when  you  are  around, 
the  more  foolish  I  become." 

"Do  I  take  all  the  sense  out  of  you,  goose?*' 
"Yes.     You  make  me  feel  ignorant." 
"Oh,"  she  broke  out  anew,  "you  have  shaved 
some  of  the  freckles  off  your  face.     Don't  you 
wish  you  could  get  'em  all  off  ? " 

"I'd  skin  my  face  if  it  would  please  you." 
"Oh,  you  would?     Well,  I  don't  want  you  to 
please  me.     I  don't  like  it.     I  like  you  best, 
somehow,  when  you  make  me  mad." 
"You  look  prettier  when  you're  mad." 
"Do  I?"     She  made  a  mouth  at  me. 
The  professor  called  us.     At  the  table  he 
asked  a  long  blessing  and  then  told  me  to 
hurry  up  and  harness  the  horses.     Ah,  how 
fondly  did  I  look  forward  to  that  trip!     Think 
ing   that   I    might   meet    Nick,   I    planned  to 
humiliate  him  by  showing  my  repeating  pistol, 
which  I  had  forgotten  to  do  when  I  met  him 
in  the  Snack  House;    and  each  buckle  I  fast 
ened   was   an   added   pleasure.      The    horses 
were  pranky,  not  having  had  much  work  to 
do,  and  as  I  started  off  toward  the  gate,  one 


274  "TURK" 

of  them  jumped,  the  other  capered,  and  thus 
they  struck  one  of  the  wheels  squarely  against 
a  stump,  breaking  out  at  least  half  of  the 
spokes.  The  professor  saw  the  accident — 
knew  that  it  was  not  my  fault;  but  he  came 
roaring  forth  oaths,  which  he  took  back  as 
soon  as  he  had  uttered  them,  calling  on  the 
Lord  to  forgive  him.  To  mend  the  wheel  in 
time  was  impossible,  and  yet  it  was  necessary 
that  the  professor  should  hear  that  sermon. 
He  scratched  his  head,  and  then  up  came  Mr. 
Kirk. 

"Four  can  go  in  my  rig,"  said  he.  "Per 
haps  Turk  and  Miss  Nan  might  not  object  to 
remaining  at  home." 

They  all  were  now  at  the  gate  and  over 
heard  Mr.  Kirk's  suggestion.  I  looked  at 
Nan  to  see  how  she  would  take  it,  expecting 
that  she  would  frown  upon  it,  but  she  did  not; 
she  surprised  me  with  a  smile  and  a  nod, 
and  said  that  as  for  herself  she  didn't  care 
to  go. 

To  me  this  was  of  such  encouragement  that 
I  was  glad  that  the  wheel  had  broken — to  be 
alone  all  day  with  her;  but  I  was  afraid  to 
show  the  rising  temper  of  my  hope  lest  she 


THE   MAN  IN  THE  HIGH  RIG         275 

might  blast  it.  The  high  rig  drove  away, 
Amy  and  Mr.  Kirk  on  the  front  seat,  and 
alone  with  Nan  I  stood  in  the  yard. 

"What  makes  you  look  so  foolish?"  she 
asked,  laughing  at  me;  and  I  did  feel  foolish, 
for  now  that  we  had  been  left  to  ourselves, 
there  seemed  nothing  to  do  but  to  stare  at 
each  other.  I  was  more  embarrassed  than  if 
I  had  met  her  for  the  first  time,  nor  was  she 
so  free  as  was  her  wont.  I  waited  for  her  to 
speak  again,  but  she  stood  in  silence,  looking 
down  the  road.  After  a  time  she  went  into 
the  house;  and  soon  I  followed  her  with  an 
armful  of  wood,  for,  though  the  sun  was  well 
up  in  the  cloudless  sky,  the  air  was  cool.  She 
cautioned  me  to  let  the  wood  down  easily  so 
as  not  to  jar  the  plastering  off  the  wall,  and 
she  scolded  me  for  littering  the  new  rag  car 
pet.  I  got  a  book  and  thought  that  I  was 
reading,  but  she  asked  me  to  stop  staring  at 
her.  I  told  her  that,  if  she  would  select  some 
spot  where  without  offense  I  might  bestow  my 
gaze,  I  would  do  so;  at  which  she  laughed 
and  said,  "Look  down  and  be  humble." 

"That  is  something  I  can't  be,"  I  replied. 

"Ah,  and  that's  the  trouble  with  you,"  she 


276  "  TURK  " 

said.  "You  are  as  poor  as  a  beggar,  but  as 
proud  as  a  prince.  But  I  don't  know  that  I 
like  you  any  the  less  for  that.  Tell  me  about 
your  people— the  way  they  used  to  fight." 
And  I  gave  her  as  nearly  as  I  could  the  his 
tory  of  my  unfortunate  family,  which  was  all 
war  with  never  a  day  of  real  peace;  and  as  she 
sat  looking  at  me,  her  eyes  grew  soft.  But  it 
was  not  in  my  mind  to  tell  her  that  I  loved 
her;  never  had  I  acknowledged  it  to  myself, 
though  I  found  myself  often  swearing  that  I 
hated  her.  At  any  rate,  had  I  loved  her  ever 
so  much,  my  words  were  too  blunt  to  carry  a 
tender  message. 

I  sat  in  silence  musing  upon  this,  when  there 
came  a  thumping  at  the  open  door.  Nan 
jumped  up,  seized  the  broom,  swept  the 
hearth  and  called  out,  "Come  in."  By  this 
time  I  had  seen  a  young  fellow  at  the  door. 
He  came  in,  and  Nan  introduced  me  to  Mr. 
Bloodgood,  as  "ornery"  a  looking  lout  as  I 
have  ever  seen.  Of  course  I  was  shot  through 
with  the  pangs  of  jealousy,  for  I  had  ex 
pected  a  whole  day  with  Nan  when  we  might 
quarrel  as  long  as  we  chose.  In  spite  of  his 
fairly  good  clothes,  this  fellow  looked  com- 


THE   MAN  IN  THE  HIGH  RIG         277 

mon.  He  did  not  appear  game,  and  to  me 
that  was  offense.  Nan  was  very  polite  toward 
him;  she  took  his  hat  and  hung  it  up,  she 
opened  the  window  blind  so  that  the  sunlight 
fell  upon  his  mottled  countenance,  she  hon 
eyed  him  with  a  smile;  and  I  looked  at  the 
fire  shovel,  musing  how  easy  it  would  be  to 
brain  him  with  it.  Nan  asked  him  if  his 
mother  were  well,  and  he  drawled  out,  "Yes, 
but  granny's  sorter  on  the  lift." 

So  this  was  one  of  the  many  young  men 
who  Nan  said  were  coming  to  see  her,  and  I 
said  to  myself  that,  if  he  were  a  sample,  the 
Lord  in  His  boundless  and  mysterious  mercy 
must  surely  have  pity  on  the  rest. 

Mr.  Bloodgood  had  not  long  been  our  guest 
when  I  saw  that  he  had  crowded  his  feet  into 
boots  much  too  small  for  him,  and  that  he  was 
suffering.  To  me  this  was  a  delightful  dis 
covery,  and  I  brought  more  wood  to  feed  the 
fire  so  that  the  heat  would  draw  the  leather. 
Nan  did  not  detect  my  trickery,  for  she 
praised  me  with  her  eyes  and  then  gave  ear 
to  the  senseless  mutterings  of  her  visitor. 
Pretty  soon  the  boots  began  to  draw,  and  he 
sat  with  one  foot  on  the  other  and  with  a  dry 


278  "  TURK  " 

grin  on  his  face.  Occasionally  I  ducked  out 
to  laugh  and  to  bring  more  fuel;  and  when  he 
began  to  look  as  if  some  ill-smelling  tincture 
were  held  under  his  nose,  I  had  to  dart  out  of 
the  house,  stumbling  and  almost  falling  at  the 
door.  When  I  came  back,  the  sweat  was 
standing  on  his  brow,  and  his  grin  had  broad 
ened.  He  said  something  about  going  home, 
but  Nan  jumped  up,  declaring  that  he  must 
eat  dinner  with  us,  and  away  she  went  to  the 
kitchen  to  make  the  coffee.  When  she  was 
well  out  of  the  way,  I  addressed  myself  to 
Bloodgood. 

"Your  boots  appear  to  be  hurting  you." 

"Jest  about  killin'  me." 

"I  had  a  pair  not  long  ago  that  almost  took 
my  life.  It  was  while  I  was  in  New  Orleans, 
and  I  don't  know  how  much  more  I  should 
have  suffered,  but  up  came  a  French  doctor 
and  gave  me  something  to  pour  in  the  boots. 
I  did  so,  and  they  never  hurt  me  at  all  from 
that  moment.  I  brought  some  of  the  stuff 
home  with  me,  and  I'll  let  you  have  it  if  you 
say  so." 

I  think  he  tried  to  look  grateful  when  he 
begged  me  to  bring  the  lotion.  I  went  out 


THE   MAN  IN  THE  HIGH  RIG         279 

and  soon  returned  with  some  muddy  water  in 
a  vial.  It  was  necessary  to  take  off  his  boots, 
I  told  him;  and  when  I  helped  him,  it  seemed 
that  the  skin  must  come  off  with  them. 

"Ah,  this  feels  good,"  he  said,  letting  his 
feet  spread  out  on  the  floor.  "I  don't  reckon 
there's  nothin'  in  the  world  hurts  much  worse 
nor  a  tight  boot.  They  are  plenty  high 
enough,  you  see — only  they  ain't  quite  high 
enough  in  the  instep." 

I  told  him  that  I  knew  exactly  how  it  was, 
and  I  did;  and  then  he  poured  the  water  into 
his  boots,  taking  care  that  there  should  be  an 
equal  division.  He  was  loth  to  put  them  on 
again,  dreading  his  punishment,  but  I  assured 
him  that  it  was  all  right,  and  it  was — with  me. 
After  a  while  Nan  called  us  to  dinner,  and  he 
grabbed  his  boots,  but  his  feet  had  swollen  so 
that  he  couldn't  get  them  much  more  than 
half  on.  He  tugged,  and  I  pretended  to  lend 
a  hand;  but  finally  he  looked  up  with  despair 
in  his  countenance  and  said  that  it  was  of  no 
use.  He  heard  Nan  coming,  and  snatching 
up  his  boots  he  fled,  taking  the  nearest  cut  for 
the  woods;  and  when  she  came  in  and  asked 
what  had  become  of  Mr.  Bloodgood,  I  was  so 


280  "TURK" 

nearly  choked  that  I  couldn't  tell  her.  Finally 
I  got  it  out,  and  she  started  to  scold,  but  was 
seized  with  laughter  and  ran  out  to  the  din 
ing-room,  where  I  heard  such  music  of  laughter 
as  I  may  never  hear  again  in  this  world. 

At  no  time  during  the  afternoon  did  we  get 
back  to  Nan's  tender-eyed  state;  and  by  the 
time  the  professor  and  party  returned  from 
church,  we  were  far  apart,  having  had  a  quar 
rel;  for  when  she  had  got  out  of  the  boot  inci 
dent  all  the  fun  there  was  in  it  for  her,  she 
accused  me  of  misusing  her  company. 

The  professor  and  Mr.  Kirk  were  still  hot 
from  the  insult  of  such  a  sermon.  The  great 
man  had  said  that  slavery  was  not  only 
ordained  by  the  Lord,  but  that  He  guarded  it 
with  as  much  zeal  as  if  it  were  His  own 
acknowledged  church.  The  slave  owners 
applauded  right  out  in  meeting;  and  when 
services  were  over,  nearly  everybody  crowded 
about  the  preacher  to  shake  hands  with  him. 

"It  does  not  appear,"  said  Mr.  Kirk,  "that 
our  shipment  of  Bibles  into  this  part  of  the 
country  does  much  good,"  and  the  professor 
replied,  "The  trouble  is  that  the  Bible  is  not 
strong  enough  on  that  point.  Not  one  of  its 


281 

writers  pronounces  against  slavery  in  a  man 
ner  that  cannot  be  gainsaid  and  our  people 
go  so  far  as  actually  to  find  sacred  authority 
for  owning  slaves.  There  is  no  use  of  further 
talk,  of  attempted  moral  suasion.  The  Bible 
and  the  pulpit  have  failed.  There  is  only  one 
other  agency." 

"Ah,  you  mean  the  sword,"  said  Mr.  Kirk. 

"I  have  not  said,  but  there  is  only  one  other 
agency." 

Mr.  Kirk  took  out  a  letter,  which  he  said 
that  the  postmaster  had  given  to  him;  and 
after  reading  it,  remarked  that  as  his  house 
was  considering  the  advisability  of  sending 
him  to  a  new  territory,  it  was  thought  best 
that  he  should  wait  at  Scoville  during  at  least 
another  week,  until  final  arrangements  could 
be  made.  "But  I  shall  not  impose  upon  your 
kindness,"  said  he.  "I  may  just  as  well  board 
in  town." 

"If  you  can  put  up  with  our  fare,"  replied 
the  professor,  "you  shall  remain  here.  Per 
haps,  sir,  you  are  not  aware  of  the  fact  that 
we  live  here  almost  in  an  intellectual  desert. 
You  come  from  the  world,  and  we  like  your 
news." 


282  "  TURK  " 

And  so  it  was  settled  that  Mr.  Kirk  should 
remain  at  least  one  week  longer  than  had 
been  intended;  and  late  that  night  I  saw  him 
steal  a  kiss  from  Amy;  I  saw  her  face  rosy 
with  happiness  and  I  was  not  sorry  for  the 
part  I  was  playing. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

A  CONTRACT 

N  THE  following  morning,  just  as 
we  were  sitting  down  to  breakfast, 
there  came  on  horseback  a  boy 
with  a  note  from  Captain  Starks, 
and  from  it  I  spelled  out  that  he  wished  to  see 
me  over  at  Scoville.  I  had  not  heard  of  him 
since  we  parted  in  New  Orleans,  and  still 
holding  him  close  to  my  heart,  as  he  had 
given  me  a  revolver,  I  was  not  long  in  mak 
ing  preparations  for  the  journey,  deciding  to 
make  it  afoot.  But  the  kindly  Mr.  Kirk  came 
forward  and  said  that  it  would  give  him  pleas 
ure  to  drive  me  to  the  town.  This  was  making 
me  important  indeed,  and  I  cut  my  eye  at 
Nan,  but  she  did  not  notice  me.  In  the  cool 
air  I  should  have  found  pleasure  in  walking, 
but  I  saw  that  Mr.  Kirk  had  in  mind  some 
thing  for  my  ear,  so  I  thanked  him  and  went 
out  to  harness  the  horses.  The  professor 
asked  Amy  if  she  did  not  wish  to  go  with  us, 

but  she  said  that  she  had  a  piece  of  work  to 

283 


284  "  TURK  " 

do,  and  I  understood  then  that  Mr.  Kirk  had 
made  her  acquainted  with  his  intention,  what 
ever  it  might  be.  As  we  drove  off,  the  pro 
fessor  shouted  his  wish  that  we  might  soon 
return,  and  then  looking  back,  I  saw  him 
making  gestures  to  Amy  and  was  sure  that  he 
was  urging  her  to  observe  some  newly-found 
trait  in  the  character  and  bearing  of  his  friend. 
It  was  some  time  before  Mr.  Kirk  spoke,  and 
not  at  all  until  he  had  turned  and  looked  back 
more  than  once  to  satisfy  himself  that  it  was 
safe  to  speak;  and  when  he  was  sure  that  he 
was  running  no  risk  from  some  vagrant  air 
current  that  might  waft  back  his  words,  he 
said: 

"Well,  Turk,  have  you  any  advice  to  offer?" 
I  told  him  that  I  had  not,  except  that  it  was 
time  to  declare  himself  to  the  professor;  and 
he  laughed,  but  not  with  the  boldness  that  I 
thought  should  be  accompaniment  to  such  a 
determination,  and  said  that  the  time  was 
surely  ripe.  "But  the  fact  is,  I  hardly  know 
how  to  approach  him.  I  find  myself  in  a  most 
delicate  situation.  What  would  you  do,  or 
rather,  I  might  say,  in  what  manner  would 
you  go  about  it?" 


A  CONTRACT  285 

"I'd  say  that  I  had  played  off  on  him  and 
wanted  to  marry  his  daughter  and  that,  if  he 
didn't  give  his  consent,  would  do  it  anyhow." 

"Too  brusque,  I  assure  you.  Have  you 
nothing  else  to  offer?" 

Surely  no  one  is  so  wanting  in  sentimental 
wisdom  as  a  rustic  whose  first  experience  of 
the  world  was  behind  a  drove  of  mules;  but  I 
have  never  found  mortal  who  was  not  capable 
of  giving  advice  to  a  lover.  And  so,  proud  of 
my  office,  I  thought  for  a  time  as  seriously  as  I 
could  and  replied  that  the  shortest  cut  was 
most  likely  to  prove  the  best. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Why,  just  say,  'Mr.  Emory,  I  love  your 
daughter- — ' ' 

"I  see.     Proceed." 

1  'Love  your  daughter,  and  she  loves  me, 
and  I  want  you  to — to  let  me  marry  her.' 
Then  he  will  look  a  good  deal  more  surprised 
than  he  is  and  tell  you  that  he  has  no  objec 
tions.  Then  you  must  say,  'Well,  I  don't 
know  about  that.'  And  by  this  time  he'll  be 
surprised  sure  enough,  and  will  ask  you  what 
you  mean.  Then  it  will  be  the  right  time  to 
say,  'It  was  love  that  caused  me  to  act  this 


286  "  TURK  " 

way,  in  coming  to  your  house  with  a  lie  in  my 
throat,  but  if  you'll  give  me  your  daughter, 
I'll  work  for  her  and  treat  her  right  and  love 
her,  and  cut  the  throat  of  a  man  that  dares 
to  look  cross-eyed  at  her.  But  I  don't  sell 
Bibles.  I  am  a  professor  and  my  name  is 
Kirkpatrick.  Now  what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?' " 

Mr.  Kirk  roared  with  laughter.  He  said 
that  he  could  not  employ  my  words,  but  that 
I  had  given  him  a  good  idea.  "But  suppose," 
said  he,  "that  all  of  his  former  objections 
should  flash  upon  his  mind  and  that  before 
viewing  the  matter  in  a  natural  and  reason 
able  light,  he  might  see  it  only  by  the  red  glare 
of  his  anger  and — and  in  his  fury  leap  upon 
me.  It  would  be — embarrassing,  I  assure  you." 

I  told  him  that  I  thought  it  would  be.  "But 
if  he  does  that,"  said  I,  "the  best  thing  would 
be  to  choke  him  until  he  agrees  not  to  have 
any  objections." 

"Ah,"  replied  Mr.  Kirk,  "quite  an  original 
idea,  I  assure  you.  But  suppose  that,  when 
we  return  home,  you  take  the  professor  off 
some  distance  and  tell  him  the  truth,  and  per 
haps  by  the  time  he — 


A  CONTRACT  287 

"Catches  you,"  I  suggested. 

"Ah,  yes,  catches  me — he  may  have  cooled 
down  to  an  acknowledgment  of  what  I  con 
ceive  to  be  a  just  claim.  How  does  that  idea 
appeal  to  you?" 

"All  right.     Leave  it  to  me." 

Hereupon  the  spirits  of  Mr.  Kirk  rose  high, 
like  a  meadow-lark  which  we  saw  mounting 
the  air,  and  he  whistled  a  tune.  During  the 
rest  of  the  journey  he  talked  not  so  much  of 
his  love  as  of  his  school,  and  he  used  words 
that  were  music  to  me;  but  when  I  asked  him 
to  speak  one  of  them  again  that  I  might 
fasten  it  in  my  mind,  he  said  that  he  should 
not  have  used  it,  as  for  the  most  part  the 
short  word  was  more  apt.  I  told  him  that  I 
had  always  thought  that  the  big  word  proved 
that  the  speaker  was  wise;  but  he  shook  his 
head  and  gave  to  me  this  advice:  "Whenever 
you  can,  use  the  Anglo-Saxon  word."  I 
thanked  him  and  said  that  I  would,  and  fell  to 
wondering  what  he  meant  by  Anglo-Saxon, 
and  I  would  have  asked  him,  but  was  afraid 
that  he  would  think  me  a  fool. 

As  we  entered  the  town,  he  asked  me  to  eat 
dinner   with   him   at   the   hotel,   but    at   that 


288  "TURK" 

moment  I  saw  Captain  Starks  coming  across 
the  street.  We  drew  up,  and  the  Captain 
shook  me  by  the  hand  and  bade  me  come 
with  him  to  a  place  where  we  might  talk;  and 
I  got  out  of  the  rig  after  telling  Mr.  Kirk  to 
wait  for  me  on  the  public  square.  But  shortly 
afterward  I  regretted  having  followed  the 
Captain,  for  I  saw  that  he  was  heading  for  the 
Gem  Saloon.  But  drawing  back  would  have 
looked  too  squeamish,  so  I  entered  with  him 
and  there  was  Nick  behind  the  bar.  He  gave 
a  hello  and  with  his  hot  hand  shook  mine;  he 
put  out  a  tall  bottle  with  a  glass  marble  in  a 
wire  net  on  the  end  of  it  and  told  me  to  help 
myself.  I  replied  that  I  had  helped  myself 
one  night  on  a  knoll  when  the  eyes  of  the  sky 
began  to  pop  out,  and  I  backed  off  from  the 
bar  and  sat  down  at  a  table  near  the  wall. 
The  Captain  ordered  some  sort  of  a  mixed 
drink  and  sat  down  with  me,  and  while  Nick 
was  shaking  the  liquor  in  a  tin  thing, 
there  came  a  shriek,  "You're  a  liar."  I 
jumped  up,  thinking  that  there  was  going  to 
be  a  fight,  but  Nick  laughed  and  motioned 
with  his  head  toward  a  parrot  sitting  on  a 
barrel. 


A  CONTRACT  289 

"Come  and  be  a  good  fellow,"  said  Nick  as 
he  came  forward  with  the  Captain's  drink. 

"Don't  urge  him,"  the  Captain  spoke  up. 

Nick  poured  out  straight  liquor  for  himself 
and  sat  down.  "Well,"  said  he,  "how  are  our 
gals  gittin'  along?" 

"Do  you  remember  once  when  I  took  up  a 
rail  from  the  fence  and  said  I  would  crack 
your  head  with  it?"  said  I,  and  the  Captain 
gave  me  a  swift  look.  Nick  said  that  he 
recalled  the  time,  and  then  I  added,  "Well, 
there  are  no  rails  here,  but  if  you  speak  of — 
somebody  in  such  a  place  as  this,  I'll  hit  you 
with  the  first  thing  I  can  get  hold  of." 

"And  serve  him  right,"  said  the  Captain, 
sipping  his  drink. 

Nick  laughed.  "Oh,  he'd  do  it  in  a  minute. 
No  yallerjacket  ain't  no  readier  to  sting  than 
him.  But  how  are  you  gittin'  along?  But 
you  don't  put  on  no  more  style  than  you  did." 
He  hooked  his  thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his 
red  "wescut"  and  looked  at  me.  "Don't  reckon 
you  need  to  ask  how  it  is  with  me.  You  can 
see  for  yo'se'f.  And  I  want  to  tell  you  that  a 
man  what  works  out  o'  doors  is  got  a  heap  to 
learn.  I  got  enough  of  it;  and  you  could  git 


290  "TURK" 

enough,  too,  if  you'd  take  my  advice.  Why 
don't  you  do  somethin?  Why  don't  you  brace 
yo'se'f  and  be  somebody?" 

A  customer  came  in,  and  Nick  hastened 
behind  the  bar,  upon  which  the  Captain  said 
to  me,  "I'm  glad  that  what  he  says  don't  have 
any  weight  with  you.  And  before  he  comes 
back,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  wanted  to  see  you 
about.  I've  got  together  another  drove  of 
mules,  and  I  want  you  to  go  along  with  me  as 
my  first  lieutenant.  On  the  other  occasion 
you  were  a  private,  and  this  time  I'll  pay  you 
about  twice  as  much.  What  do  you  say?" 

What  could  I  say?  To  be  anything  that 
smacked  of  authority;  to  feel  that  I  was  rising 
out  of  the  common  dust  of  humble  life  and 
might  wear  black  clothes  with  a  white  shirt 
and  boots  with  high  heels  and  a  watch  with  a 
big  chain;  to  see  myself  arrayed  in  a  manner 
to  catch  and  to  hold  the  eye  of  Nan;  to  have 
the  professor  say  to  me,  "Ah,  you  are  a  man, 
let  me  show  you  my  farm;"  indeed,  to  be 
somebody  other  than  a  hired  boy  who  at  Old 
Blood  had  but  barely  learned  to  read — the 
thought  of  it  all  made  my  heart  beat  fast; 
and  my  emotion  was  not  lost  on  the  Captain, 


A  CONTRACT  291 

for,  without  awaiting  my  answer,  he  said,  "All 
right,  Turk,  and  I  know  you  will  give  me  good 
service.  Before  we  get  very  far  South,  I'll 
have  to  make  several  trips  out  from  the  main 
command,  to  gather  up  more  recruits  for  the 
drove,  and  at  such  times  you'll  be  the  captain. 
The  times  are  shaky,  and  I've  got  to  get  some 
one  I  can  trust.  We  are  going  to  outfit  -here 
in  this  town,  and  I'll  see  Brooks  &  Mass,  the 
supply  men,  and  tell  them  to  let  you  have  any 
thing  you  want.  Of  course  I  am  ready  to 
take  your  word  for  anything,  but  it  is  better 
to  have  a  contract;  so  if  you  wait  here  till  I 
go  over  to  a  lawyer's  office  and  have  the  paper 
drawn  up,  you  can  sign  it  without  more  ado." 
He  went  out  carelessly  for  one  bent  on  an 
errand  so  great,  I  thought,  and  I  sat  there 
almost  in  a  daze.  To  sign  a  contract!  Not 
in  the  most  free-rein  indulgence  of  ambitious 
fancy  had  I  ever  looked  forward  to  the  time 
when  I  should  be  called  upon  to  sign  a  con 
tract.  It  was  like  John  Hancock,  the  bold  of 
pen,  signing  the  "Declaration  of  Independ 
ence."  For  a  time  I  was  afraid  to  look  at 
Nick,  who  was  cracking  ice  and  shaking  things 
behind  the  bar;  but  I  wished  that  he  might 


292  "  TURK  " 

come  back  to  the  table,  so  that  I  could  dwarf 
him  with  the  news  that  I  was  about  to  sign  a 
contract,  drawn  up  by  a  lawyer,  under  provi 
sions  set  forth  by  the  "American  Constitu 
tion."  But  he  was  kept  busy  by  customers; 
and  pretty  soon  I  became  interested  in  them. 
In  came  one  old  fellow,  limping  with  his  hand 
on  his  hip,  and  asked  Nick  what  was  good  for 
sciatica.  Nick  thought  that  a  little  whisky 
was  about  the  best  thing,  and  after  studying 
for  a  while  the  old  fellow  said  that  possibly  it 
was.  Another  man  had  not  been  able  to  sleep 
the  night  before  and  therefore  needed  a  drink. 
A  judge's  stomach  was  out  of  order;  a  lawyer 
had  to  make  a  speech;  a  farmer  had  fallen 
into  the  creek;  a  merchant  hated  whisky,  but 
needed  a  tonic — every  one  had  some  apology 
to  make  to  the  bartender,  and  I  marveled  how 
few  men  took  whisky  for  whisky's  sake  alone. 
After  a  time  there  came  a  lull,  and  Nick 
swaggered  out  from  behind  the  bar  and  stood 
off  for  me  to  admire  him. 

"It  won't  be  long  before  I  own  a  half-inter 
est  in  this  money-makin'  concern,"  said  he; 
and  with  a  swell  of  pride  I  declared,  "And  it 
won't  be  long  before  I  sign  a  contract,  sittin' 


A  CONTRACT  293 

right  where  I  am  now.  Have  you  got  any 
good  pens  handy?" 

"What  sort  of  a  contract?"  he  inquired,  sit 
ting  down. 

"Oh,  one  that'll  make  me  a  lieutenant  a 
part  of  the  time  and  a  captain  the  other  part." 

'What  for?  To  drive  mules?  And  that's 
what  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  about.  If  you 
ever  want  to  climb  up  in  the  world,  you 
mustn't  drive  mules.  Why,  anybody  can 
drive  a  mule.  The  blackest  nigger  in  the 
world  can  drive  a  mule;  I  saw  a  piece  in  the 
paper  the  other  day  that  said  niggers  could 
beat  white  men  drivin'  mules.  What  you 
want  is  to  git  a  job  somethin'  like  mine.  Do 
you  notice  how  all  the  big-bugs  around  here 
talk  to  me?  They  tell  me  how  they  feel  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  They  wouldn't  talk 
that  way  to  a  mule  driver.  I  need  somebody 
in  here  to  help  me — somebody  to  clean  up  of 
a  mornin',  and  if  you " 

"Shut  up." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  you?  Tell  a 
man  to  shut  up  in  his  own  house?  Why,  I 
could  call  the  town  marshal  and  have  you 
flung  into  jail  for  that." 


294  "TURK" 

"Let  me  show  you  something,"  said  I, 
cheerful  of  manner,  pretending  to  pass  his 
insult,  and  I  took  out  my  revolver  and  held  it 
so  that  it  caught  the  light  that  fell  over  a  sort 
of  screen  placed  in  front  of  the  open  door. 

"What  is  it?  A  revolver?  I've  got  two.  I 
reckon  that  one  was  made  befo'  they  know'd 
how  to  make  'em  as  well  as  they  do  now. 
Come  in,  Cap'n." 

I  put  up  my  pistol  before  the  captain  saw  it, 
while  Nick  went  back  behind  the  bar.  And 
there  was  the  contract  spread  out  on  the  table 
before  me,  and  it  was  written  so  plainly  that  I 
could  almost  read  it.  The  captain  said  that 
he  would  read  it  to  me,  but  I  told  him  that  he 
needn't  mind;  so  he  called  for  pen  and  ink, 
and  when  I  had  signed  it,  Nick  was  asked  to 
put  down  his  name  as  a  witness,  an  honor 
which  did  not  appear  to  strike  him  over  much. 
After  discussing  the  time  of  departure  and 
appointing  a  place  to  meet,  the  captain  took 
me  to  dinner  with  him,  where  we  sat  down  to 
a  long  table  with  lawyers  and  clerks,  and  I 
remember  that  a  negro  boy,  that  kept  off  the 
few  heavy-winged  autumn  flies  by  pulling  a 
string  attached  to  a  big  paper  flap  overhead, 


'AND  THERE   WAS  THE  CONTRACT   BEFORE  ME 


A   CONTRACT  295 

dropped  off  into  a  doze  but  still  kept  up  his 
pull  at  the  string. 

Mr.  Kirk  was  waiting  for  me,  and  so  eager 
was  I  that  I  began  at  once  to  tell  him  of  my 
contract,  even  as  I  was  climbing  into  the  rig; 
and  I  would  have  shown  him  my  copy  of  it, 
but  he  did  not  ask  to  see  it,  so  much  was  his 
mind  taken  up  with  his  own  affairs.  He  had 
thought  out  the  plan  that  I  should  tell  the 
professor,  and  he  gripped  my  hand  more  than 
once  as  we  drove  home. 


CHAPTER   XX 

THERE  BY  THE  CHEERFUL  FIRE 


E  SAW  the  professor  standing  in  the 
doorway  of  the  barn,  and,  getting 
out  in  a  tremor,  Mr.  Kirk  took  a 
roundabout  way  to  the  house.  As  I 
drove  up  to  unharness  the  horses  and  to  put 
the  rig  under  the  shed,  the  professor  came  out 
and  inquired  as  to  the  captain's  business  with 
me,  and  I  told  him  all,  busy  meantime  with 
buckles  and  straps.  He  replied  that  it  was 
well,  especially  as  he  did  not  need  me  during 
the  winter.  "You  are  getting  along  toward 
man's  estate,"  said  he,  "and  if,  while  you  are 
off  on  this  trip,  you  can  find  a  better  place,  I 
should  advise  you  to  take  it."  1  thanked  him, 
and  being  now  done  with  the  work  of  un 
harnessing  the  horses,  I  turned  them  into  the 
barn  and  was  preparing  to  back  the  rig  under 
the  shed  when  I  saw  the  professor  start  off 
toward  the  house.  I  called  him,  and  he  halted 
beneath  a  scrub-oak  tree  to  wait,  where  I  soon 
joined  him  with  my  mind  uneasy.  He  made 

as  if  he  would  walk  on,  but  I  asked  him  to 

296 


THERE  BY   THE   CHEERFUL  FIRE    297 

wait,  as  I  had  business  with  him.  At  the  word 
business  he  smiled,  and  as  if  the  mention  of  it 
made  him  tired,  he  leaned  with  his  shoulder 
against  the  tree.  But  I  was  put  to  for  a  way 
to  begin;  and  when  his  smile  was  shut  off  and 
with  eyes  turned  inquiringly  upon  me  he  said, 
"Well,"  I  stammered  that  what  I  wanted  to 
say  would  come  in  a  moment.  And  it  did, 
after  a  fashion. 

"Er — Mr.  Kirk  is  in  love  with  Amy." 

"What!" 

"And  wants  to  marry  her — said  he  never 
loved  anybody  before  and  would  make  her 
happy  or  die  trying." 

"Humph!  Why  hasn't  he  spoken  to  me 
about  it?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  I  think  it's  because  he's 
been  too  busy  speaking  to  her.  He's  sort  of 
bashful  and  asked  me  to  tell  you  and — " 

"A  book  peddler  bashful?" 

"Well,  but  he  isn't  as  much  of  a  book  peddler 
as  you  think  he  is." 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?" 

"He  don't  sell  books  at  all,  and  his  name 
isn't  Kirk  but  Kirkpatrick,  and  he's  the 
professor  that " 


298  "  TURK  " 

I  grabbed  his  arms  and,  putting  them  about 
the  tree,  held  his  hands  so  that  he  couldn't  get 
away,  for,  even  though  runtish,  I  was  stronger 
than  he  ever  was.  He  didn't  snort  as  I 
thought  he  would,  but  he  muttered  some 
thing  like  a  cast-iron  oath,  hot  from  the 
mould,  and  commanded  me  to  turn  him  loose. 
But  I  told  him  no,  not  until  he  heard  what  I 
had  to  say,  and  then  his  countenance  lighted 
up  and  he  laughed.  But  I  held  him  until  I 
had  said  all  that  I  wanted  to  say — told  him 
how  good  a  man  Kirkpatrick  was,  how  he 
loved  Amy,  and  how  she  loved  him;  and  that 
if  he  didn't  give  his  consent,  his  house  would 
never  again  be  free  from  tears. 

"Of  course  what  you  say  has  no  influence  on 
my  decision,"  said  the  professor,  rubbing  his 
hands  together,  for  I  had  pressed  them  hard 
against  the  rough  bark.  "No  sensible  father 
could  object  to  so  well-appointed  a  gentleman, 
and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  for  some  little 
time  suspected  the  true  state  of  affairs  con 
cerning  him.  And  before  seeing  him,  I  was 
beginning  to  yield  my  objections.  But  wait  a 
moment.  All  of  the  joke  is  not  to  be  on  one 
side.  You  have  served  him,  now  serve  me. 


THERE  BY  THE   CHEERFUL  FIRE     299 

Go  to  him  and  tell  him  that  your  heart  failed 
you  at  the  last  moment  and  that  I  am  still  in 
ignorance  as  to  who  he  is." 

I  still  had  a  hope  that  I  might  be  a  lawyer, 
and  conceived  that  to  handle  one  side  of  a 
case  after  having  finished  with  the  other 
belonged  to  the  essentials  of  the  profession. 
So  it  was  agreed  that  together  we  should 
walk  to  the  house,  talking  as  if  nothing  had 
passed  between  us;  we  did,  and  as  we 
approached,  Kirkpatrick  came  out  and 
minced  his  way  toward  us,  gazing  first  at  the 
professor  and  then  at  me.  And  then,  as  he 
saw  no  sign,  his  countenance  fell,  and  he 
walked  with  us  up  the  path  leading  to  the 
door.  But  I  plucked  him  back,  and  when  the 
professor  was  gone  on  into  the  house,  I 
begged  the  lover's  pardon  for  a  last  moment's 
lack  of  courage.  "But  I  will  wait  till  to-night," 
said  I,  "and  when  everybody  but  just  him  and 
me  have 

"He  and  I,"  the  schoolman  corrected  me, 
and  I  said,  "Yes,  that  was  undoubtedly  right." 
After  a  time  he  agreed  that  to  wait  might  be 
well,  as  it  would  give  the  professor  an 
opportunity  to  sleep  upon  the  proposition. 


300  "TURK" 

The  air  was  chill,  a  cheerful  fire  was  burning, 
and  we  sat  about  the  hearth.  The  professor's 
manner  was  gay,  and  I  wondered  that  one 
who  had  taught  out  of  so  many  heavy  books 
could  have  so  light  a  mind.  Amy  looked 
disappointed,  for  Kirkpatrick  had  undoubtedly 
told  her  of  the  plan  and  she  must  have  seen 
that  nothing  had  been  said.  With  a  blank- 
book  on  her  knees,  Nan  was  trying  to  draw 
a  picture,  a  cow,  after  she  had  named  it;  and 
Mrs.  Emory  was  plying  two  red  cedar  sticks, 
knitting  a  pink  nubia. 

"Louise,"  said  the  professor,  "I  took  down 
our  old  Bible  to-day,  and  I  find  that  the  print 
is  fading.  It  hurts  my  eyes  to  read  it." 

"Mr.  Kirk  has  promised  us  one,"  Mrs. 
Emory  replied.  I  knew  that  she  suspected 
nothing. 

"Have  you  got  any  with  alligator  binding?" 
the  professor  inquired. 

Mr.  Kirk  said  that  he  didn't  know,  but  that 
he  thought  they  had  all  sorts  of  bindings. 

"How  soon  do  you  think  you  can  get  it  here?" 

"It  won't  be  long  now,"  said  Mr.  Kirk, 
moving  about  in  his  chair. 

"Ah-hah,  hah,"  coughed  the  professor.     "I 


THERE  BY  THE  CHEERFUL  FIRE     301 

suppose  that  all  of  our  neighbors  who  have 
bought  from  you  are  pleased." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Kirk,  and  then  quickly  he 
added:  "Do  you  think  it's  going  to  rain?" 

The  professor  answered  him:  "Might,  if 
the  wind  should  shift  a  little  further  around 
to  the  west.  What  is  the  price  of  your  most 
costly  Bible?" 

"Ah,  hah,  hah,"  coughed  Mr.  Kirk.  "I  don't 
know  exactly.  Have  much  rain  here  in  the 
winter  time?" 

"Rain!  I  don't  know  of  anything  better 
bound  than  a  calf,  but  I  have  known  the  rain 
here  to  wet  one  through  and  through." 

"Walter,"  Mrs.  Emory  spoke  up,  "what  on 
earth  are  you  talking  about?" 

"Calves — bindings.  Oh,  by  the  way,  Mr. 
Kirk,  I  was  out  on  the  turnpike  to-day  and 
met  a  Cincinnati  Bible-man.  I  told  him  about 
you,  and  he  said  that  he  would  make  it  a 
point  to-night  to  come  over.  Smart  as  a 
whip — asked  me  what  house  you  were  selling 
for,  but  I  had  forgotten." 

"I  should  like  to  meet  him,"  gasped  Mr. 
Kirk.  And  then  he  broke  out,  "Oh,  isn't  this 
Thursday?" 


302  "  TURK  " 

The  professor  said  that  it  was  Thursday. 

"Great  goodness!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Kirk.  "I 
have  an  appointment  this  evening  to  meet  a 
man  in  Scoville." 

"That  so?  I'm  glad  of  that,"  said  the  pro 
fessor,  "for  I  am  forced  to  go  over  there  this 
evening  myself.  And  I  am  glad  that  I  may 
have  your  company  to  shorten  the  journey. 
Where  are  you  to  meet  this  man?  At  the 
hotel?" 

"Well,  no,  at  a  private  house  just  beyond 
the  town." 

"Out  the  straight  road — big  white  house  on 
the  hill?" 

"Yes,  I  think — am  quite  certain  it  is  the 
place." 

"Well,  do  you  know  I'm  glad  of  that?  I've 
got  to  call  at  that  very  place  myself." 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  wrong,"  cried  Mr.  Kirk.  "It  is 
a  house  quite  a  distance  beyond  that." 

"You  don't  tell  me!"  exclaimed  the  profes 
sor.  "Now,  indeed,  I  am  in  luck.  I  have  a 
commission  from  Hoover,  our  exiled  preacher, 
to  call  at  all  the  houses  on  both  sides  of  the 
road  for  six  or  eight  miles.  I  shall  not  here 
speak  of  the  nature  of  the  commission,  but  as 


THERE  BY  THE  CHEERFUL  FIRE     303 

we  drive  along  I  shall  make  it  known  to 
you." 

Mr.  Kirk  thanked  him  for  his  confidence. 
Mrs.  Emory  said  that  it  was  the  first  time  she 
had  heard  of  such  a  commission;  and  the  pro 
fessor  spoke  up,  "My  dear,  and  even  the  dis 
covery  of  America  was  not  heard  of  until — it 
was." 

Kirk  was  suffering.  He  took  out  his  hand 
kerchief  and  wiped  his  brow.  But  the  profes 
sor  was  not  yet  done.  "My  dear,"  he  said  to 
his  wife,  "I  caught  old  man  Zack  Beardsley  in 
a  lie  to-day." 

"Why,  Walter,  you  don't  tell  me!" 

"Caught  him  in  a  lie.  You  remember,  Mr. 
Kirk,  the  day  you  made  your  welcome  appear 
ance  here,  you  incidentally  said  that  you  had 
sold  your  last  Bible  to  old  Zack.  But  to-day 
when  I  asked  him  how  he  liked  it,  he  swore 
that  he  had  never  bought  a  Bible  in  his  life." 

Kirk  jumped  out  of  his  chair.  "Sir!"  he 
exclaimed,  "it  were  unbecoming  in  me  to  sail 
longer  under  false  colors.  I  am " 

"Why,"  shouted  the  professor,  "you  talk 
exactly  like  Professor  Kirkpatrick." 

"I  am,  sir.    And  I  am  here  to " 


304  "  TURK  " 

"To  give  me  your  hand,"  broke  in  the  pro 
fessor,  and  then — ah,  the  tears  of  joy  shed  by 
the  women  folk!  How  everybody  talked;  and 
how,  at  one  time,  I  found  myself  holding 
Nan's  hand!  But  for  a  moment  only;  she 
snatched  it  away,  boxed  me  velvetly  with  it, 
and  then  helped  Amy  and  Mrs.  Emory  with 
their  weeping.  The  professor  and  Kirkpat- 
rick  laughed  as  they  gripped  each  other,  and 
after  a  time  we  all  of  us  were  silent,  as  Amy 
stood  behind  Kirk's  chair,  with  her  arms  about 
his  neck.  The  professor  took  down  his  old 
Bible,  smiling  as  he  did  so,  and  read  about 
Ruth.  It  was  a  happy  time  there  by  the 
cheerful  fire. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

A  POT  HUNTER 

HERE  had  been  so  many  tears  of 
distress  followed  by  so  many  tears 
of  happiness  that  I  thought  Amy 
must  surely  be  married  on  the  fol 
lowing  day,  but  the  next  morning  I  found  that 
the  wedding  had  been  set  about  two  months 
from  that  time.  Nan  must  have  been  some 
what  of  my  mind,  for  she  marveled  that  so 
distant  a  day  should  be  fixed  upon.  "What!" 
cried  Mrs.  Emory,  "do  you  suppose  we  are  in 
such  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  her?" 

After  many  of  the  details  had  been  settled, 
and  especially  when  all  of  the  prospects  of 
Kirkpatrick  had  been  made  known,  such  as 
his  ownership  of  a  piece  of  land  and  the  fact 
that  his  well-provisioned  old  grandmother 
looked  upon  him  with  a  kindly  eye,  he  took 
his  leave,  as  happy  a  man  as  I  ever  saw.  When 
we  all  of  us  had  bidden  him  good-bye  at  the 
gate,  the  professor  turned  somewhat  severely 

upon  me. 

305 


306  '  TURK  " 

"Turk,"  said  he,  "let  me  say  to  you  for  your 
own  good  that  unless  you  give  over  your 
deceitful  ways,  you  are  in  the  future  to  have 
no  end  of  trouble.  Regardless  of  the  fact 
that  I  have  ever  been  so  kind  to  you,  paying 
you  eight  dollars  a  month,  when  in  reality 
you  were  by  law  bound  to  me,  you  for  more 
than  a  week  go  about  with  a  secret  which  is 
embarrassing  to  my  character  and  prejudicial 
to  me  as  a  man  in  general.  You  ought  to 
have  told  me  at  first  that  this  man — a  gentle 
man,  I  am  sure — was  none  other  than  Kirk- 
patrick,  the  professor  and  the  clandestine  lover 
of  my  daughter." 

Mrs.  Emory,  with  bowed  head  and  I  think 
with  tears,  was  slowly  walking  toward  the 
house,  but  she  turned  back  and  faced  the  pro 
fessor.  "And,"  said  she,  "if  Turk  had  done 
that,  our  troubles  would  just  have  begun, 
whereas  now  they  are  over." 

"My  dear,"  replied  the  professor,  taking  her 
arm,  "you  don't  quite  grasp  the " 

"I  grasp  everything  there  is  to  grasp,"  she 
broke  in,  and  at  the  moment  she  looked  as  if 
she  really  did,  appearing  more  determined 
than  I  had  ever  seen  her.  We  went  into  the 


A  POT  HUNTER  307 

house,  and  for  a  time  I  sat  about,  waiting  for 
the  professor  to  put  me  to  some  sort  of  work, 
but  as  he  did  not,  I  went  out,  rather  stealthily 
too,  I'm  afraid,  and  went  over  to  see  my  old 
friend  Champ  Jones.  I  found  him  in  a  bad 
way,  down  with  rheumatism,  with  no  one  to 
do  him  a  service.  He  was  lying  propped  up 
in  bed,  and  a  light  shone  forth  from  his  eye  as 
I  entered  the  door.  "Never  was  gladder  to 
see  a  man  in  my  life,"  he  called  out;  and  the 
fact  that  he  said  man  pleased  me,  and  fearing 
that  he  might  discover  his  mistake  and  cor 
rect  himself  to  "boy,  rather,"  I  hastily  caught 
up  his  pail  and  went  to  the  spring. 

"Water  was  exactly  what  I  wanted,"  he  said 
when  I  returned.  "Just  take  that  big  tin  cup 
there  and  give  me  about  a  gallon  at  a  snort. 
I  crawled  down  to  the  spring  last  night  and 
drank  like  an  alligator,  but  found  myself  too 
weak  this  morning  to  go  back.  God  bless  you 
for  coming." 

He  told  me  that  he  was  sure  that  his  afflic 
tion  was  caused  by  the  prison  lime  in  his 
bones.  I  smiled  at  the  notion,  but  it  was  with 
him  a  serious  conviction;  and  in  my  limited 
experience  of  prisons,  lime,  and  rheumatism, 


308  "  TURK  " 

I  did  not  feel  that  I  was  well  enough  equipped 
to  argue  with  him.  After  a  time  I  spoke  of 
cooking  something  for  him  to  eat;  and  he 
thanked  me,  but  said  that  there  was  nothing 
in  the  house  but  some  corn  meal  and  coffee, 
but  that,  if  I  didn't  mind,  I  could  take  the  gun 
and  hunt  for  a  dish  of  something  in  the 
woods.  If  I  didn't  mind!  Could  he  in  any 
other  way  have  conferred  upon  me  so  great  a 
delight?  I  took  the  gun — not  the  big  one,  for 
that  was  more  in  the  nature  of  artillery — and 
went  out,  tiptoeing  even  before  crossing  the 
road,  so  careful  was  I  not  to  scare  the  game. 
In  that  part  of  the  country  there  was  an 
abundance  of  quail,  and  squirrels  were  plenti 
ful;  but  neither  a  feathered  nor  a  hairy  object 
could  I  see.  The  situation  became  desperate, 
as  in  my  imagination  I  had  pictured  it  a  case 
of  success  or  starvation;  but  the  squirrels 
were  in  their  holes,  and  the  birds  were  gone. 
In  a  cedar  tree,  green  in  the  midst  of  a  brown 
thicket,  I  spied  something  that  thrilled  me,  a 
big  bird,  and  tremblingly  I  aimed  at  him  and 
down  he  came,  with  a  great  flapping  of  wings, 
an  owl;  but  I  gathered  him  up  and  set  off 
toward  Champ's  house,  picking  the  horned 


A  POT  HUNTER  309 

hooter  as  I  went,  knowing  that  there  had 
come  a  time  when  the  keenest  of  deceptions 
must  be  practiced.  At  last  I  had  him  picked, 
and  at  a  rivulet  near  the  house  I  drew  him  of 
his  powerful  machinery  for  grinding  up  field 
mice,  and  triumphantly  bore  him  into  the 
room.  Champ  asked  me  what  I  had,  and 
believing  that  a  man  with  rheumatism  could 
not  have  a  very  discriminating  taste,  I 
answered  that  I  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to 
shoot  a  pheasant. 

''Good!"  cried  the  sick  man.  "I  couldn't 
ask  for  anything  better.  They  are  getting 
scarce  around  here,  and  you  were  in  luck. 
How  are  you  going  to  cook  him?" 

I  remembered  having  heard  some  one  say, 
"drunk  as  a  boiled  owl,"  and  of  course,  not 
knowing  why  a  boiled  owl  should  be  drunk 
and  questioning  the  fact  that  he  was  drunk,  I 
yet  knew  that  behind  all  idle  expressions 
there  must  lie  some  cause,  that  at  some  time 
in  the  past  an  owl  must  have  been  boiled;  so 
I  decided  to  boil  him  first  and  then  to  fry  him. 
Champ  demurred  to  the  first  part.  He  said 
that  pheasants  were  usually  tender,  and  that 
frying  would  be  enough.  But  I  told  him  that 


310  "  TURK  " 

he  didn't  know  what  an  obstinate  pneasant 
this  one  was,  and  that  many  of  his  feathers 
were  set  in  the  wrong  way,  and  that  he 
seemed  to  be  the  only  survivor  of  a  feud. 
This  amused  the  old  man,  and  he  let  me  have 
my  way.  I  built  up  a  hot  fire,  with  the  shell- 
bark  of  a  hickory  tree,  and  soon  the  owl  was 
dancing  in  the  pot. 

"Look  here,"  said  Champ,  "that  smells  more 
like  a  boiled  rat  than  a  pheasant.  Don't 
believe  that  boiling  is  quite  agreeable  to  his 
nature.  Better  try  frying  a  while." 

I  told  him  that  I  would,  pretty  soon,  know 
ing  that  he  had  not  yet  been  boiled  enough  to 
be  anything  like  tender;  and  I  then  engaged 
myself  in  telling  of  the  outcome  over  at  the 
professor's.  The  old  man  laughed  till  the 
rheumatism,  a  most  jealous  master,  I  have 
always  been  led  to  believe,  racked  him  with 
pain.  I  went  to  him  and  rubbed  his  legs,  and 
it  helped  him,  for  after  a  while  he  ceased  to 
groan.  It  was  now  time  to  fry  the  bird,  and 
after  pretty  hard  work  with  a  sharp  knife  I 
cut  him  up  and,  covering  the  pieces  with  flour, 
put  them  into  a  skillet.  When  he  was  brown 
in  his  feathers  in  the  tree,  he  was  a  most 


A  POT  HUNTER  311 

formidable  looking  thing;  but  now  that  he 
was  brown  in  the  skillet,  there  didn't  appear 
to  be  much  to  him.  "But  there  is  enough,"  I 
smiled  to  myself,  as  I  put  his  breast  on  a  tin 
plate.  Intent  upon  the  owl,  it  is  but  natural 
that  I  should  have  forgotten  to  mention  that 
I  had  baked  a  hoe-cake  and  made  a  pot  of 
coffee.  My  patient's  eyes  showed  that  he 
was  hungry,  and  his  square  jaws  indicated 
that  he  was  determined,  qualities  both  of 
which  I  felt  to  be  on  this  occasion  not  only 
valuable  but  essential.  With  a  sharp  knife  he 
cut  off  a  piece  of  the  owl,  and  I  turned  my  face 
away  as  he  began  to  chew  it,  for  it  made  a 
noise  as  if  he  had  taken  a  piece  of  rubber 
between  his  teeth.  But  he  ate  it  all — result  of 
the  square  jaws — and,  shaking  his  head  as  I 
took  away  the  plate,  he  remarked,  "Lorenzo, 
I  reckon  you  know  for  what  two  virtues  your 
illustrious  namesake,  Lorenzo  Dow,  was 
mostly  celebrated." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  do,"  I  answered,  put 
ting  the  plate  and  the  cup  on  a  table  that 
looked  as  if  it,  too,  might  have  rheumatism  in 
its  legs. 

"Well,  we'll  skip  one,  which  was  physical 


312  "TURK" 

bravery,  and  come  at  once  to  the  other,  which 
was  telling  the  truth  under  all  circumstances. 
Do  you  understand?" 

"I  think  I  do,  sir." 

"Ah,  and  thinking  you  do,  are  you  willing 
to  stand  there  and  tell  me  that  the  thing  you 
shot  was  a  pheasant?  Are  you?" 

"Well,  I'm  not  much  acquainted  with 
pheasants.  I— 

"That  may  be  true  enough.  But  how  about 
chicken  hawks  and  buzzards  and  owls?" 

"Buzzards,  did  you  say?" 

"Yes — and  here,  for  the  Lord's  'sake  don't 
tell  me  that  I  have  eaten  a  piece  of  a  buzzard. 
Tell  me  anything  else,  but  clear  me  of  that. 
What  was  it?" 

"Well,  you  know,  sir,  I  couldn't  find  any 
thing  to  shoot,  and  I  didn't  want  to  come  back 
with  nothing,  because  I  knew  you  were  hun 
gry  —  was  ashamed  to  come  back  —  so  I 
shot " 

"Lord  a  massy!     Not  a  buzzard?" 

"An  owl,  sir." 

He  lay  back  with  a  deep  breath  of  relief, 
and  I  went  at  him  again  and  rubbed  his  legs. 
Pretty  soon  he  began  to  laugh.  "It's  all  right, 


A  POT  HUNTER  313 

my  son,  just  so  you  don't  feed  me  on  buz 
zards." 

I  was  so  stricken  with  remorse  and  shame, 
that  I  offered  to  eat  the  rest  of  the  owl;  and 
I  would  have  done  it,  but  he  said,  "You  are  at 
liberty  to  help  yourself  to  anything  in  my 
house,  and  particularly  to  owl,  but  you  needn't 
eat  it.  I've  played  such  jokes  many  a  time." 

But  I  would  not  view  it  in  the  light  of  a 
joke,  for  by  this  time  I  regarded  it  as  a  crime. 
What  had  my  experience,  my  seeing  "the 
world"  availed  me?  I  was  still  without  a 
sense  of  judgment,  ready  to  do  a  thing  that 
any  fool  might  see  would  call  for  repentance. 
But  old  Champ  declared  that  it  was  good  for 
him,  in  that  it  had  given  him  something  new 
to  think  about;  and  when  I  rubbed  his  legs 
harder  and  harder,  he  rewarded  me  by  declar 
ing  that  I  had  saved  his  life. 

"I  had  forgotten  that  old  wild-hog  ham 
hanging  up  there  from  the  rafters,"  said  he, 
looking  aloft.  "It  has  been  there  five  years 
at  least,  getting  better  all  the  time;  and  if  you 
have  a  mind  to,  you  might  get  it  down  and 
broil  a  few  slices."  This  opened  the  way  for 
practical  atonement;  and  after  getting  the 


314  "TURK" 

ham  down,  at  the  risk  of  breaking  my  neck,  I 
broiled  for  him  a  goodly  slice  and  was  bring 
ing  it  to  him  when  there  came  a  knock  at  the 
door.  The  sick  man  called  out,  "Come  in," 
and  the  professor  entered.  He  was  not  sur 
prised  to  see  me  there,  and  did  not  look  upon 
me  unkindly,  as  formerly  he  had  been  wont  to 
do  whenever  he  met  me  by  accident.  He  was 
sorry,  he  said,  to  see  his  staunch  old  adversary 
laid  up. 

"Have  a  seat  there  and  don't  let  my  being 
laid  up  worry  you,"  replied  old  Champ.  "I 
am  still  a  match  for  you  on  any  point  of 
faith."  This  was  enough,  and  at  it  they  went, 
tugging  over  the  same  old  ground;  and  when 
they  appeared  to  be  at  their  warmest,  that  is 
to  say,  just  short  of  blows,  Champ  broke  off: 
"You  are  a  stout  soldier,  sir,  but  the  stoutest 
of  soldiers  needs  rations.  Here,  Turk,  bring 
the  remains  of  that  pheasant."  I  might  have 
hesitated  and  with  a  look  might  have 
entreated  him  to  spare  the  professor  and  me. 
I  say  "might  have,"  but  I  didn't.  In  my  usual 
state  of  heedlessness,  I  brought  the  tin  plate 
of  owl  to  the  professor,  and  I  saw  him  worry 
ing  with  a  wing,  a  veritable  Barlow  knife,  half 


A  POT  HUNTER  315 

open,  floured  and  fried.  This  he  lost  some 
where  during  the  excitement  of  his  talk  and 
got  hold  of  a  leg,  and  with  this  he  worried  a 
long  time,  but  suddenly  he  clapped  his  hand 
to  his  mouth. 

With  a  great  effort  Champ  turned  over, 
face  to  the  wall,  and  when  I  saw  him  shaking, 
I  sprang  at  him  and  vigorously  began  to  rub 
his  legs. 

"Jones,  what  the  devil  is  this  you've  given 
me  to  eat?" 

"P-p-pheasant,"  Champ  spluttered. 

"Pheasant,"  grunted  the  professor;  "bone 
wrapped  with  tarred  rope." 

At  this  old  Jones  yelled.  The  professor 
threw  down  the  tin  plate  and  stood  looking 
upon  him.  "This  may  be  a  joke,  sir,  but  I 
wish  to  tell  you  that  I  don't  like  it." 

If  he  did  not  like  it  from  Jones,  how  would 
he  take  it  from  me?  What  would  he  do  when 
it  should  be  made  known  to  him  that  I  was 
the  cause  of  it  all?  Jones  turned  his  face 
from  the  wall,  and  lying  on  his  back  muttered, 
"Owl."  "Owl!"  gasped  the  professor  between 
a  groan  and  a  retch. 

"Sit  down,  and  we'll  finish  our  argument," 


316  "TURK" 

said  old  Champ.  This  was  an  inducement, 
and  the  professor  sat  down.  "Let  me  tell  you 
something,"  Jones  went  on.  "The  other  day 
a  sort  of  wise  man  came  over  to  see  me,  and 
during  his  stay  we  just  naturally  dropped  into 
a  dispute  over  certain  things  pertaining  to 
religion  and  the  soul  of  man.  After  we  had 
threshed  about  all  the  mouldy  straw  on 
hand — and  we  had  a  good  deal  of  it — this 
wise  man,  becoming  wiser,  said,  said  he,  'Jones, 
anybody  that  would  arguy  on  religion  would 
eat  an  owl.'  Of  course  I  hooted  at  this 
idea " 

''Hooted,  having  the  owl  in  mind,"  broke  in 
the  professor. 

"Exactly  so,  sir,"  agreed  old  Champ. 
"Well,  as  I  say,  I  hooted  at  the  idea;  and 
then,  as  there  was  no  way  to  settle  it,  we 
branched  off  into  something  else.  I  had  for 
gotten  all  about  it,  even  the  visit  of  the  wise 
man,  when  just  now  here  he  came  again. 
'Jones,'  said  he,  'I  heard  you  were  sick,  so  1 
have  come  over  to  bring  you  a  pheasant  that  I 
killed  this  morning.'  And,  sir,  even  before 
I  had  got  through  thanking  him,  he  had 
begun  to  fry  the  bird.  As  usual,  we  opened 


A  POT  HUNTER  317 

with  our  religious  spat,  and  the  first  thing  I 
knew  I  was  eating — what  you  spoke  of  just 
now  as  bone  and  tarred  rope.  Then  he  cried 
out,  'What  did  I  tell  you  a  religious  contro- 
verser  would  eat?'  'Owl,'  I  acknowledged, 
feeling  a  twist  at  the  stomach.  'Ah,  hah,'  said 
he,  'and  that's  exactly  what  you  have  done. 
Good-day,'  and  with  that  he  marched  out, 
leaving  me  to  speculate  upon  the  great 
amount  of  truth  there  is  in  this  old  world." 

The  professor  lay  back  with  a  laugh,  and  I 
knew  that  Champ  had  saved  me.  After  this 
there  was  a  talk  on  abolition  and  the  war, 
which  everybody  ought  to  see  was  coming, 
but  which  very  few  did  see;  and  then  the  pro 
fessor  took  his  leave,  retching  a  little  as  he 
caught  sight  of  the  tin  plate.  I  followed  him 
outside  and  told  him  that,  as  there  was  noth 
ing  for  me  to  do  over  at  the  house,  I  would 
remain  and  take  care  of  Jones  until  he  should 
be  so  far  recovered  as  to  help  himself.  "Ah," 
said  the  professor,  looking  at  me,  "a  very 
commendable  notion,  I  assure  you."  I 
thanked  him,  and  he  went  away. 

When  I  told  Champ  that  it  was  my  deter 
mination  to  stay  and  to  take  care  of  him,  his 


318  "  TURK  " 

eyes  looked  moist,  but  immediately  afterward 
he  began  to  laugh  at  the  professor  and  the 
owl.  Following  his  directions,  I  found  several 
old  newspapers  in  a  box  as  black  as  a  coffin, 
and  as  well  as  I  could  I  read  to  him,  and  was 
startled  to  find  the  world  on  the  very  brink  of 
eternal  destruction,  but  noticing  that  the 
papers  were  dated  back  several  years,  soon 
found  myself  not  without  some  little  vestige 
of  hope.  While  I  was  reading,  who  should 
come  but  Nan?  She  had  been  sent  by  her 
mother  with  jellies  and  preserves,  cakes  and 
pickles,  marmalade  and  catsup,  quite  enough 
to  have  given  gout  and  rheumatism  to  any 
woodcutter  whose  ax  we  could  hear  ringing 
in  the  distant  wood.  The  old  man  thanked 
her,  more  with  his  eyes  than  with  his  words; 
and  then  he  told  her  a  story  about  a  bear 
that,  one  cold  winter's  night,  forgot  all  fear 
and  came  and  stood  with  his  back  against  the 
house  to  warm  himself. 

"I  hope  you  didn't  kill  him,"  said  Nan. 

"No,  indeed.  I  was  so  much  pleased  that  I 
invited  him  in,  and  if  he  had  come,  I  should 
have  given  him  my  best  bed;  but  about  that 
time  he  was  taken  with  a  lonesome  feeling 


A  POT  HUNTER  319 

and  went  on  back  to  his  home,  wherever  it 
was;  and  so  many  years  have  passed  since 
then  that  I  reckon  he's  dead  long  ago." 

There  was  nothing  in  the  story  to  interest 
Nan.  She  wasn't  a  child.  She  wanted  to 
hear  about  human  affairs,  and  she  asked  him 
why  he  had  never  married.  "Oh,  that  is  a 
painful  subject,"  he  said,  just  to  see,  I  thought, 
what  effect  it  would  have  on  her;  and  she 
brightened  and  said,  "Then  tell  me  about  it." 
Then  he  told  her  that  once  he  was  engaged 
to  marry  the  handsomest  girl  in  the  neighbor 
hood — all  girls  engaged  to  be  married  were 
the  handsomest — and  as  the  time  for  the  wed 
ding  drew  near,  a  great  discovery  was  made 
on  the  part  of  the  girl,  and  that  broke  off  the 
match." 

"What  was  the  discovery?"  Nan  eagerly 
inquired. 

"Why,  some  one  told  her  it  had  been  found 
out  that  I  was  the  ugliest  man  in  the  county. 
This  set  her  on  her  guard,  and  when  I  came 
again,  she  gave  me  a  good  look  and  found  out 
that  the  report  was  true  and  it  almost  broke 
her  heart.  She  couldn't  marry  me  after 
having  been  so  cruelly  deceived;  for  you  see  I 


320  "  TURK  " 

had  assured  her  upon  the  word  of  a  gentle 
man  that  I  was  handsome."  Here  Nan,  who 
stood  swinging  her  bonnet  by  the  strings, 
playfully  struck  him  with  it  and  ran  out  of  the 
house.  I  followed  and  asked  her  if  she  would 
not  let  me  bear  her  company  home,  but  she 
turned  about  and  made  a  mouth  at  me. 
"When  did  you  become  my  beau?" 

"I  never  have,  but  I  wouldn't  mind  being." 

"Well,  you  never  will.  As  soon  as  Amy 
marries  and  goes  back  to  the  college,  she  is 
going  to  send  me  a  professor,  and  I'm  going 
to  marry  him.  She  says  that  they  are  as 
plentiful  over  there  as  yearling  calves  are 
over  here." 

"And  they  are  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey," 
said  I. 

"Oh,  but  what  difference  does  that  make? 
They  can  talk  nice  and  they  have  pretty  white 
hands.  I  wouldn't  marry  a  man  with  hard 
hands.  Good-bye." 

"Wait  a  moment,  Nan.     You 

."I'm  old  enough  now  to  be  called  Miss  Nan 
— by  you." 

"Miss  Nan,  you  know  I'm  going  away,  and 
you  may  never  see  me  again." 


A  POT  HUNTER  321 

"Do  you  promise  me  that?" 

"How  can  you  have  so  little  heart?" 

"Little  heart  as  what?     I  don't  know  what 

you  mean,  I'm  sure.      Well,  I  don't  suppose 

you'll  be  over  at  the  house  again  before  you 

go,  so  good-bye." 

She  went  away  singing,  and  swinging  her 

bonnet  by  the  strings. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

TWO  REFORMERS 

AY  and  night,  until  a  day  or  so 
before  my  departure  south  with 
Captain  Starks,  I  attended  upon 
old  Champ,  and  before  leaving  him 
I  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  that  he  was 
almost  as  well  as  ever.  Soon  came  the  day 
for  my  leave-taking.  I  speak  of  it  as  if  it 
were  a  ceremony.  It  was  not.  The  professor 
shook  hands  with  me  as  if  it  were  a  sort  of 
welcomed  return,  Mrs.  Emory  gave  me  a  ten 
der  word  and  a  soft  touch,  and  then  while  the 
captain  was  waiting  with  my  horse  at  the  gate, 
I  turned  to  look  for  Nan.  I  found  her  behind 
the  house,  this  time  pretending  to  play  with  a 
dog,  for  there  was  no  dog  there;  she  was  pop 
ping  her  fingers  at  nothing  and  was  talking  to 
the  air. 

"I  have  come  to  tell  you  good-bye." 
"Oh,  have  you?     Good-bye." 

"Is  that  all?" 

322 


TWO   REFORMERS  323 

"All?    All  of  what?" 

"Nan,  don't  let  us  separate  this  way." 

"This  way?     How?" 

"Oh,  you  know.  If  you  like  me,  and  are 
mad  at  yourself  for  doing  it,  tell  me  so.  You 
know,  all  along  I  tried  to  like  Amy  better 
than  I  did  you,  but  I  couldn't,  and— 

"Have  you  told  her  good-bye?" 

"Early  this  morning  before  she  drove  away 
in  the  pony  cart.  Tried  always  to  like  her 
better  than  you,  for  she  was  kind  to  me  when 
it  seemed  that  I  hadn't  a  friend  in. the  world, 
when  your  father  was  harsh  with  me  and  your 
mother  was  almost  afraid  to  speak  a  word  in 
my  favor.  But  I  couldn't.  You  stung  me,  but 
I  kept  on  coming  around  so  you  could 
sting  me;  you  called  me  all  sorts  of  mean 
names,  but  whenever  you  spoke,  it  was  music; 
it  wasn't  a  flute,  but  a  sort  of  a  fife,  making 
my  blood  leap.  It  was  a  sort  of  feud  call. 
It " 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  she  broke 
in,  and  she  had  her  bonnet  on  and  was  pulling 
at  the  strings.  And  before  I  could  say 
.another  word,  she  was  changed  both  in  atti 
tude  and  in  expression  of  countenance.  She 


324  "  TURK  '.' 

leaped  away  from  me  and  looked  at  me,  and 
for  a  moment  I  felt  that  never  before  had  I 
been  so  thoroughly  hated.  She  repeated, 
"Like  you  and  mad  at  myself  for  doing  it! 
Oh,  Turk,  I  hope  I'm  not  that  big  a  fool." 
For  a  moment  she  had  softened,  but  in  the 
softening  there  was  contemptuous  pity, 
harder  to  bear  than  her  hate;  and  I  turned 
away  from  her.  At  the  corner  of  the  house  I 
looked  back,  but  she  was  not  looking  after 
me,  and  so  I  left  her. 

This  time  Captain  Starks'  drove  was  much 
reduced  from  the  size  of  the  former  one,  nor 
had  he  employed  more  than  a  third  as  many 
men,  but  he  said  that  during  the  excursions 
which  he  expected  to  make  we  should  pick  up 
many  a  brute  before  reaching  New  Orleans. 
The  expedition  was  dull  in  the  day,  for  I  had 
passed  over  the  same  ground  on  the  previous 
trip;  and,  as  before,  it  was  without  incident  at 
night.  We  had  got  pretty  well  down  into 
Tennessee  when  the  Captain,  saying  that  it 
was  now  time  for  his  first  little  excursion,  com 
manded  me  to  take  charge  of  the  camp  and  to 
await  his  return,  took  one  man  with  him  and 
departed.  Along  toward  evening — we  had 


TWO   REFORMERS  325 

halted  here  about  noon — we  heard  from  some 
of  the  farmers  who  lived  near  that  two  men 
had  recently  come  into  that  neighborhood 
and  were  making  a  great  stir  for  the  temper 
ance  cause.  Al  Chamberlain,  my  lieutenant, 
and  I  decided  that  we  would  go  to  hear  them. 
Not  frequently,  but  occasionally,  my  old 
hill-top  thirst  came  back  to  torture  me,  and  I 
was  on  the  lookout  for  every  temperance 
argument  that  might  chance  to  lie  in  my  way. 
The  meeting  was  held  in  an  old  log  school- 
house,  at  early  candle  lighting,  and  on  the 
way  to  the  place  Al  and  I  dropped  in  with  a 
Justice  of  the  peace  who  had  several  times 
heard  these  remarkable  men.  "And  they  are 
remarkable,"  said  he  as  we  walked  along  with 
him.  "Without  any  education  they  get  up 
and  talk  about  the  drinking  evil,  largely  from 
experience,  you  understand,  until  any  one 
must  come  away  convinced." 

"Convinced  as  every  one  must  be  before 
going,"  said  Al. 

"Yes,  that's  true,"  replied  the  Justice  of  the 
peace,  "but  somehow  these  men  have  a  strong 
way  of  putting  things." 

As   we   drew   near,   a    hymn    arose.      The 


326  "  TURK  " 

house  was  but  poorly  lighted  with  tallow 
candles;  but  when  the  two  men  came  out 
upon  the  platform,  Al  caught  hold  of  me,  cry 
ing,  "Sit  down.  What's  the  matter  with 
you?"  The  lecturers  were  known  as  Jackson 
and  Johnson,  and  such  may  have  been  their 
names,  but  by  me  they  were  remembered  as 
Mose  and  Tab.  Without  restraint  I  suppose 
that  I  would  have  rushed  upon  the  platform, 
but  Al  had  a  cooling  influence  as  well  as  a 
physical  force.  Nothing,  however,  could  drive 
from  my  soul  that  long-harbored  thirst  for 
revenge;  and  while  the  scoundrels  were  talk 
ing,  first  one  and  then  the  other,  I  told  Al, 
softly  whispering,  of  my  claim  upon  them  and 
outlined  my  plan.  He  was  quietly  to  go  out, 
return  to  the  camp,  tell  the  boys,  go  down 
into  the  woods,  make  a  fire  near  a  log,  and 
then  come  back  to  me.  I  was  his  "superior 
officer,"  but  mere  suggestion  was  all  the  com 
mand  necessary,  and  more  than  willingly  he 
went  out,  and  I  sat  there,  endeavoring  to 
listen  to  them,  but  all  I  could  hear  were  my 
own  smothered  cries  as  I  lay  across  a  log  with 
my  mouth  in  the  dirt.  But  I  heard  enough  to 
know  that  in  them  there  had  been  no  repent- 


TWO   REFORMERS  327 

ance,  that  they  were  the  same  scoundrels  as 
ever.  Soon  a  hat  was  passed  around,  and 
money  was  contributed.  Isn't  it  singular  that, 
no  matter  how  brutal  a  man  may  appear, 
there  is  always  a  hearing  waiting  for  him? 
A  hearing  among  gentle  folk,  and  money  for 
him,  too,  if  only  he  tells  of  his  many  debase 
ments.  Gazing  at  the  scoundrels,  lost  in  the 
sweet  hugging  unto  myself  of  long  deferred 
revenge,  I  did  not  observe  the  return  of 
Chamberlain.  He  touched  me  and  I  jumped. 
"Everything's  all  right,  and  the  boys  are  out 
there,  tickled  to  death,"  he  whispered. 
"Found  a  log  and  a  brush  pile  in  the  right 
place,  just  far  enough  off  in  the  woods."  I 
pressed  his  hand  in  my  gratitude,  and  swore 
under  my  breath  that  never  before  had  I 
found  so  true  a  friend.  Mose  called  for  the 
singing  of  a  hymn,  done  mainly  by  poor 
women  who  had  drunken  husbands,  and  then 
the  congregation  was  dismissed.  The  two 
lecturers  were  quartered  in  a  negro  cabin  not 
far  away,  and  giving  them  time  to  get  well 
into  their  house  and  to  settle  themselves,  we 
followed  along,  six  of  us,  speaking  not  a  word. 
Light  streamed  through  the  chinks  of  the  log 


328  "  TURK  " 

wall,  and  peeping  in  we  saw  Mose  and  Tab 
counting  their  money. 

"They  have  begun  to  weaken  a  little,"  said 
Mose. 

"Yes,"  Tab  replied,  "but  we  was  putty 
strong  at  first  and  in  the  nature  of  things 
couldn't  expect  it  to  keep  up.  Reckon  they'll 
stand  three  or  four  more  milkin's." 

I  stepped  back  into  the  dark,  and  Al 
knocked  at  the  door.  There  was  a  hasty 
shuffling  within  as  if  they  were  putting  away 
their  money,  and  then  Tab  opened  the  door. 

"Brothers,  won't  you  come  in?"  he  said. 
And  the  brothers  began  to  file  in,  I  the  last. 

"Brothers,"  said  Al,  "hold  out  your  hands. 
Here,  Pete,  you  and  Sam  with  your  rope."  I 
said  never  a  word,  but  stood  near  the  door 
with  my  hat  pulled  down  over  my  face. 
There  was  no  attempt  at  resistance,  not  even 
an  apparent  objection,  for  meekly  they  held 
forth  their  hands  and  were  tied.  "Don't  be 
any  more  scared  than  you  can  help,"  said  Al. 
"You  may  deserve  it,  but  we're  not  going  to 
hang  you.  We  are  going  to  give  you  a  little 
reminder  of  things  that  sometimes  happen  up 
in  Kentucky.  Fall  in." 


TWO   REFORMERS  329 

I  saw  a  light,  the  brush  pile  on  fire,  and  led 
the  way,  as  yet  not  having  given  my  old 
associates  an  opportunity  to  recognize  me. 
Though  some  distance  in  advance,  I  could 
hear  their  mumbled  inquiries  as  to  what  we 
intended  to  do  with  them,  and  I  heard  Mose 
declare  that  he  was  willing  to  give  over  all  the 
money  that  had  been  collected;  I  remember 
also  laughing  to  myself  at  Al's  reply:  "Broth 
ers,  you  must  not  think  that  money  is  every 
thing.  Comes  near  it,  I  admit,  but  it's  not 
quite  all.  Come  over  this  way  a  little  more. 
There's  a  thorn  bush  along  here  somewhere, 
and  you  might  scratch  yourselves.  Might 
pull  off  some  of  your  lamb's  wool." 

Reaching  the  fire,  I  stood  with  my  back 
turned  toward  them.  I  heard  them  muttering 
objections.  "What  do  you  want  to  take  our 
coats  off  for,  gentlemen?  Don't  cut  'em  off. 
Untie  our  hands.  We  won't  try  to  git  away." 

"Won't  you?  Gentle  lambs,  ain't  you?" 
Their  hands  were  untied,  they  were  stripped 
to  the  waist,  and  then  they  were  tied  again. 
"Now,  brothers,"  said  Al,  "you  will  please 
stand  still  while  we  put  a  few  coils  of  rope 
around  your  ankles." 


330  "  TURK  " 

Over  in  an  old  field  not  far  off  I  had  noticed 
a  pear  tree,  and  toward  it  I  went  with  my 
heart  laughing,  to  gather  my  weapons,  sprouts 
almost  as  tough  as  rawhide.  I  soon  returned 
with  six  or  eight  of  them  nicely  trimmed. 
Then  it  was  that  I  stood  before  them,  and  I 
saw  them  quail  beneath  my  eye.  They  knew 
me.  I  had  grown,  and  I  had  changed;  but 
fear  has  a  keen  discernment,  and  the  scoun 
drels  trembled.  Mose  began  to  beg. 

"That  was  a  long  time  ago,"  he  whined, 
"and  you  ought  to  have  forgot  it  by  this  time. 
I  didn't  think  you  could  have  so  hard  a 
heart.  Why,  Mr.  Turk,  them  sprouts  you've 
got  there  will  cut  a  man  all  to  flinders.  Don't 
you  think  you  can  find  it  in  yo'  heart  to  for 
give  us?" 

I  didn't  make  any  theatric  speech.  I  simply 
said  to  Al  and  the  rest,  Tut  'em  across  the 
log,  boys."  Al  suggested  that  they  ought  to 
be  gagged,  and  this  was  done.  There  was  a 
moon,  I  remember.  The  creek,  not  far  away, 
was  singing  a  low  song.  And  I  halted  for  a 
moment,  while  rolling  up  my  sleeves,  to  see 
if,  indeed,  I  could  find  pity  in  my  heart.  But 
I  couldn't.  Somehow  my  revenge  didn't 


TWO   REFORMERS  331 

seem  to  be  so  personal;  I  felt  that  these  men 
had  disgraced  the  memory  of  my  father  by 
whipping  his  son,  and  that  the  spirits  of  all 
the  Griffins  were  looking  at  me.  They  must 
have  been  happy.  I  took  Mose  first.  How 
he  bit  his  gag  and  groaned!  I  smelled  his 
hot  blood.  Al  touched  me  on  the  arm.  "You 
have  given  him  enough,"  he  said.  And  then 
I  took  Tab.  "He  has  fainted,"  said  one  of 
the  boys,  and  I  left  off.  We  helped  them  to 
put  their  clothes  on  and  then  turned  away. 
In  the  night  I  awoke  with  the  smell  of  hot 
blood  in  my  nostrils,  and  I  turned  sick.  We 
were  sleeping  in  the  open,  and  I  got  up  and 
stirred  the  fire.  I  heard  the  murmur  of  the 
creek  and  saw  the  moon  going  down  in  a  dis 
tant  wood.  What  was  that  something,  not 
warm  but  sickening,  against  my  heart? 
Repentance?  What  is  mercy  but  a  cheating 
of  justice?  But  is  not  the  world  better, 
brighter,  and  is  not  man  nobler  when  some 
times  justice  has  been  cheated? 

Al  looked  up  from  his  blanket.      "What's 
the  matter?     Can't  you  sleep?" 

"Yes,  but  I  wish  that  fellow  hadn't  fainted." 
"Hope  you  haven't  turned  sorry." 


332  "  TURK  " 

"Hope  you'll  not  be  sorry,  Al,  for  the  part 
you  took." 

"Not  me,"  he  replied.  "When  such  punish 
ment  is  deserved,  I  like  to  be  where  it's  going 
on." 

He  turned  over  and  went  to  sleep,  and  I — 
I  went  down  into  the  woods,  to  the  cabin 
where  the  lecturers  had  lived,  but  they  were 
gone. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

A   POOR  BOY'S   WALLET 

LONG  about  ten  o'clock  the  next 
day  it  was  found  that  not  only  were 
Mose  and  Tab  gone,  but  with  them 
had  disappeared  the  sum  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  contributed  by  the 
citizens  toward  the  building  of  a  Sons'  of 
Temperance  Lodge.  Though  at  the  time 
there  was  scarcely  any  stir,  yet  the  news  of 
the  whipping  had  got  abroad,  and  when  it 
was  known  that  the  sufferers  were  also 
thieves,  men  came  up  to  congratulate  me. 
But  it  was  an  honor  that  I  did  not  relish,  for 
that  hot  smell  was  still  sickening  to  my  nos 
trils;  and  I  remembered  what  old  Champ  had 
said  about  the  memory  of  the  nose. 

It  was  near  noon  when  Captain  Starks 
returned  from  his  excursion  out  into  the 
remote  country;  and  when  he  came,  I  was 
shocked  to  see  him  bring  five  negroes,  two 
women  and  three  men,  chained  together.  I 
asked  him  what  he  was  going  to  do  with 

333 


334  "TURK" 

them,  and  he  answered,  "Going  to  take  them 
South." 

"But  I  am  employed  to  drive  mules  and  not 
negroes,"  I  replied. 

"You  are  employed  to  drive  whatever  I 
desire  you  to  drive." 

"My  contract  says  mules." 

"Your  contract  says,  'to  drive  or  transport 
any  and  all  sorts  of  property.'  " 

I  took  out  the  paper,  which,  as  I  now 
recalled,  I  had  not  read  when  I  signed  it,  and 
there,  sure  enough,  was  the  clause  just  quoted 
by  the  captain.  "Does  that  satisfy  you?"  he 
inquired. 

"No,  it  doesn't.  I'm  not  a  negro  driver, 
and  no  contract  on  the  earth  can  compel  me 
to  be,"  and  with  that  I  tore  the  paper  into  bits 
and  scattered  them  about  on  the  ground. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  the  captain 
asked,  scowling  at  me. 

"I'm  going  to  quit." 

"Ah,  I  understand  that  whipping  is  rather 
fashionable  around  here." 

"Yes,  for  those  that  deserve  it." 

"And  doesn't  a  man  deserve  it  when  he 
breaks  his  contract?" 


A   POOR   BOY'S   WALLET  335 

"Captain,"  said  I,  "we  have  been  friends, 
and  you  have  been  kind  to  me.  Once  you 
gave  me  a  revolver,  and — — " 

"And  you  would  shoot  me  with  it." 
"Rather  than  to  let  you  whip  me?    Yes." 
He  walked  away  as    if   he   were   studying 
about  something,  which  indeed  he  was;    and 
coming  back  he  said  to  me,  "If  you  quit  me 
here,  you  quit  without  a  cent  of  pay." 
"Yes,  I  know  that — expected  it." 
He  turned   away  again,  and  I   started   off 
down  the  road  toward  Nashville.     Al  called 
after  me  to  tell  me  good-bye.     I  halted,  and 
he  came  up,  saying  as  he  approached,  "I  think 
you're    foolish,    Turk.       These    niggers    are 
going  South,  whether  you  help  take  them  or 
not." 

"Yes,  that's  true  enough,  but " 

"Come  on  back  and  go  with  us.  We'll  have 
lots  of  fun  in  New  Orleans." 

"No;  good-bye,"  and  I  left  him  there  in  the 
road,  and  looking  back  I  saw  him  saddling  his 
horse.  The  "command,"  as  we  termed  it, 
passed  me  before  I  was  far  on  my  journey; 
and  though  the  rest  of  them  spoke,  the  cap 
tain  did  not  take  notice  of  me.  I  had  eaten 


336  "  TURK  " 

nothing  since  early  morning,  and  along 
toward  night  I  halted  at  the  gate  of  a  house 
where  there  was  a  great  barking  of  dogs. 
When  a  man  came  out,  I  asked  him  for  sup 
per  and  for  lodging.  After  a  few  questions 
he  invited  me  into  the  handsomest  room  I 
had  ever  seen,  where  there  was  a  cheerful  fire 
and  a  young  woman  picking  at  a  piano.  I 
wished  that  she  would  play,  but  was  afraid  to 
ask  her.  After  supper,  however,  I  was  bolder 
and  asked  her,  and  she  smiled  and  said  that 
she  had  left  all  of  her  music  at  school.  I 
didn't  know  what  she  meant  by  it.  How  any 
one  could  leave  a  tune  at  school  was  rather 
perplexing  to  me,  and  I  wondered  if  they  shut 
it  up  in  a  room,  taking  care  lest  it  escape 
through  the  window.  But  after  a  while  she 
played;  strange  pieces  they  were,  and  at  times 
running  so  heavy  down  at  one  end  of  the 
piano  and  then  up  so  light  at  the  other  end 
that  I  didn't  like  them  over  much. 

The  resident  and  his  wife  were  kind  to  me, 
and  I  was  put  to  sleep  in  a  bright  room,  where 
there  was  a  fire  and  a  bed  that  I  was  almost 
ashamed  to  disturb.  Such  treatment  to  a 
tramp  was  unusual,  I  knew,  and  I  wondered 


A   POOR   BOY'S   WALLET  337 

at  it.  I  had  a  few  dollars,  three,  I  think,  and 
next  morning  I  offered  to  pay  the  man,  but 
he  shook  his  head.  When  I  had  thanked  him 
and  taken  up  my  wallet,  he  followed  me  out 
upon  the  turnpike.  "I  just  wanted  to  say  a 
word,"  said  he.  "Not  long  before  you  came 
last  night,  a  man  with  a  drove  of  mules,  in 
passing,  took  occasion  to  tell  me  that  there 
would  soon  be  a  foot  traveler  along  the  road, 
and  that  doubtless  he  would  want  food  and  a 
bed.  'But  drive  him  off,'  said  he.  'Have 
nothing  to  do  with  him,  for  he  has  violated 
his  contract  and  has  refused  to  help  me  take 
these  negroes  South.'  I  honored  you  for  it, 
young  man.  Just  now  you  offered  to  pay  me. 
But  don't  you  need  money?" 

I  was  deeply  affected,  and  all  I  could  do 
was  to  thank  him,  refuse  his  money,  and 
hasten  away.  Soon  arriving  in  the  city,  I 
began  to  look  about  for  something  to  do;  and 
along  in  the  afternoon,  being  pinched  with 
hunger,  I  went  into  a  snack  house,  as  I 
thought,  but  upon  entering  I  found  that  it  was 
a  place  of  some  pretension  and  therefore 
beyond  my  means;  but  ashamed  to  withdraw, 
I  sat  down  and  for  the  first  time  in  life  was 


338  "  TURK  " 

presented  with  a  bill  of  fare.  At  a  table 
further  toward  the  rear  of  the  long  room,  sev 
eral  youths  were  eating  and  drinking,  and  I 
fancied  that  they  were  laughing  at  me,  but  I 
paid  no  attention  to  them.  I  ordered  bacon 
and  eggs;  and  while  I  was  waiting,  the  youths 
came  along,  and  although  my  wallet  was  not 
in  their  way,  one  of  them  gave  it  a  kick,  and 
the  next  moment  I  was  at  his  collar.  I  beat 
him  in  the  face,  and  I  saw  his  blood  come  in  a 
sort  of  flash,  and  there  was  a  great  outcry  and 
an  overturning  of  chairs.  At  one  time  it 
seemed  to  me  in  my  blind  fury  that  at  least 
three  of  the  party  were  dancing  about  me, 
clawing  and  striving  to  hit  me,  and  then  I  saw 
the  gleam  of  a  dirk.  I  clapped  my  hand  on 
my  pistol,  but  was  seized  from  behind  by 
police  officers,  disarmed  and  hurried  to  prison 
without  having  had  an  opportunity  to  taste  of 
my  bacon  and  eggs. 

I  was  locked  in  an  ill-smelling  dungeon,  and 
on  the  following  morning  was  brought  before 
a  magistrate.  My  enemies  appeared  against 
me  and  told  a  marvelous  tale  of  desperate 
assault  upon  them,  but  the  keeper  of  the 
snack  house  and  one  of  his  waiters  came  for- 


A   POOR   BOY'S   WALLET  339 

ward  with  the  truth.  The  magistrate  was  a 
kind-hearted  old  gentleman;  and  as  I  looked 
at  him,  I  fancied  that  he,  too,  had  come  to 
that  town  a  poor  and  friendless  boy. 

Turning  to  my  enemies  and  speaking  par 
ticularly  to  the  aggressor,  he  said,  "I  am  going 
to  turn  this  young  man  loose,  and  you  and 
your  friends  must  pay  the  cost.  Hereafter, 
don't  make  it  a  point  to  insult  a  poor  boy  by 
going  out  of  your  way  to  kick  his  wallet." 
He  told  me  to  remain,  and  when  the  others 
were  gone,  having  paid  the  costs,  the  magis 
trate  handed  over  my  pistol  and  said  to  me, 
"This  is  a  bad  world  we  have  broken  into,  my 
son,  and  we  must  try  to  make  the  best  of  it." 
He  then  asked  me  many  questions  concerning 
myself,  which  I  answered  in  a  straightforward 
manner,  and  when  I  came  down  to  the  break 
ing  of  my  contract  with  the  captain,  he  shook 
his  head.  "You  ought  not  to  have  done 
that — still  I  don't  blame  you."  He  offered 
me  money,  but  I  wouldn't  take  it;  and  then 
he  offered  his  kindly  hand,  which  I  took  and 
shook  in  hearty  gratitude. 

Upon  going  out  of  the  court-room,  I  went 
straightway  to  the  snack  house  and  raised  a 


340  "  TURK  " 

laugh  by  saying  that  I  had  come  back  for  my 
bacon  and  eggs. 

The  proprietor  ordered  a  dish  set  before 
me,  and  when  I  had  eaten,  he  refused  to 
charge  me  anything,  saying  that  I  had  shown 
fine  mettle  in  fighting  those  reprobates.  "I 
hope  they'll  keep  out  of  here,"  said  he,  "for 
they  drive  away  custom."  I  asked  him  for 
work,  and  he  said  that  he  could  give  me  a  job 
at  waiting  on  table,  but  I  thanked  him  and 
declined.  I  told  him  that  I  was  willing  to  do 
man's  work,  but  I'd  starve  rather  than  to  be 
man's  servant.  From  the  restaurant  I  went 
down  to  the  steamboat  landing,  where  there 
was  much  life,  the  singing  of  deck  hands,  and 
the  loud  swearing  of  the  mates.  I  selected 
one  boat,  the  Blanche  Lewis,  and  going  on 
board  asked  the  captain,  a  jolly,  kindly  man, 
if  he  didn't  want  to  hire  me.  He  looked  at 
me  and  laughed,  but  so  good-humoredly  that 
I  laughed,  too;  and  then  he  said,  "You  don't 
appear  strong  enough  for  a  deck  hand,  and, 
besides,  we'd  rather  have  negroes.  They 
digest  the  mate's  cursing  better  than  white 
men  do.  Who  peeled  you  up  there  on  the 
side  of  the  head?" 


A   POOR   BOY'S   WALLET  341 

I  told  him  about  my  fight,  and  he  roared, 
and  cried  out  to  some  one,  the  pilot,  I  believe, 
"Oh,  Bob,  here's  the  chap  that  thrashed  the 
Kirkman  boys." 

"Bob,"  a  trim  little  man,  came  forward  to 
look  at  me  and,  after  asking  me  where  I  was 
from,  inquired  if  I  thought  that  I  could  dis 
charge  the  duties  of  second  mate.  I  leaped 
at  the  idea. 

"I  was  thinking  of  that,"  said  the  captain. 
"How's  your  stock  of  oaths?"  he  inquired  and 
laughed. 

I  told  him  that  circumstances  had  com 
pelled  me  to  be  apt  in  that  line,  and  that  I 
regarded  my  stock  as  above  the  ordinary,  for 
which  he  clapped  me  on  the  shoulder  and  told 
me  that  I  might  go  to  work.  "Look  here,"  he 
said  before  dismissing  me,  "my  name  is  John 
Bateman,  and  everybody  will  tell  you  I'm  the 
easiest  man  in  the  world  to  please  as  long  as 
a  fellow  acts  right;  but  when  he  doesn't,  why, 
I  simply  wrench  off  a  bell  and  throw  it  at  his 
head.  Go  out  there  now  and  boss  the  niggers." 

The  work  was  not  hard,  and  I  enjoyed  my 
authority  as  "mud  clerk."  Sometimes  the 
mate  would  curse  me,  though  never  where 


342  "  TURK  " 

the  deck  hands  could  hear  him;  but  I  cursed 
him  back,  and  thus  we  got  along  well 
together.  We  were  soon  on  our  trip  down 
the  river,  and  the  jolly  captain  walked  the 
deck  as  proudly  as  if  he  had  been  commander 
of  a  man-of-war.  Late  in  the  evening,  while 
we  were  taking  on  sacks  of  grain  at  a  muddy 
landing,  I  saw  two  men  come  aboard,  Mose 
and  Tab;  and  I  heard  some  one  say  to  the 
mate,  "Ugly-looking  customers,  them."  They 
had  not  seen  me,  I  thought,  and  I  was  not 
anxious  that  they  should.  They  paid  for 
deck  passage,  and  I  watched  them  until  they 
stretched  themselves  out  to  sleep.  Early  the 
next  morning,  while  we  were  unloading  boxes 
of  merchandise  near  a  small  town,  and  when  I 
was  busy  on  the  shore,  Mose  and  Tab  came 
off,  paying  no  attention  to  me  as  they 
ascended  the  slippery  bank.  But  suddenly 
some  one  cried,  "Look  out!"  I  leaped  to  one 
side,  and  a  bullet  fired  by  Mose  missed  me 
narrowly.  As  they  ran  away,  I  believe  that 
with  my  revolver  I  could  have  killed  them 
both,  but  I  let  them  go.  Two  days  later  we 
received  news  of  them.  In  robbing  a  house, 
they  had  beaten  an  old  man  to  death,  and  a 
mob  had  hanged  them  to  a  tree. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

THE  SWORD   IN   THE   AIR 

HOUGH  holding  to  the  hope  that 
on  some  future  day  I  might  be  a 
lawyer  and  by  my  acquired  shrewd 
ness  catch  a  witness  in  a  lie,  after 
the  manner  of  an  old  fellow  whom  I  had  seen 
browbeating  his  way  through  a  case,  still  it 
seemed  that  I  had  now  entered  upon  my  life's 
work.  Within  a  few  weeks  I  had  made  such 
progress  in  the  art  of  profanity,  Captain  Bate- 
man  declared,  and  could  worry  so  much  work 
out  of  the  negro  deck  hands,  that  I  was  pro 
moted  to  the  position  of  first  mate.  Imme 
diately  afterward,  in  the  light  of  a  pine  torch, 
I  gathered  all  of  my  forces  into  one  mighty 
effort  to  construct  a  letter  to  Nan.  I  told  her 
something  that  she  must  have  viewed  as  a 
piece  of  startling  news — that  at  last  I  had 
found  a  man  "with  the  ability  to  appreciate 
my  worth."  And  as  she  was  not  supposed  to 
know  anything  of  the  duties  and  moreover 
the  responsibilities  of  a  Cumberland  River 

343 


344  "  TURK  " 

mate,  I  proceeded  to  enlighten  her.  Of 
course  the  captain  was  an  important  figure, 
but  the  mate!  Without  him  the  boat  could 
not  be  loaded,  and  if  such  were  the  case,  of 
what  was  the  use  that  it  should  make  a  trip? 
Therefore  the  mate  was  the  boat.  Perhaps 
he  did  not  receive  as  large  a  salary  as  the 
captain,  but  to  the  mate  there  were  in  this  life 
other  things  aside  from  money.  I  told  her  of 
a  compliment  generously  paid  to  me  by  the 
captain,  that  I  was  an  artist  in  sulphur,  which 
any  one  must  know  was,  in  our  line,  superior 
to  being  an  artist  in  oil.  I  felt  so  proud  of  the 
letter  that  I  was  inclined  to  read  it  to  the  cap 
tain,  but  refrained,  because  along  toward  the 
end  there  crept  in  a  sentiment,  so  delicate  and 
suggestive,  that  even  now  I  recall  it  with  a 
tender  smile:  "When  we  parted,  you  pre 
tended  to  be  playing  with  a  dog.  Wish  I  was 
a  dog." 

About  a  week  afterward  the  clerk  of  the 
boat  handed  a  letter  to  me,  and  I  put  it  in  the 
pocket  of  my  flannel  shirt,  to  let  my  heart 
beat  against  it  until  night,  when  again  we 
should  be  out  upon  the  dark  current  of  the 
river,  and  then,  hiding  from  all  vulgar  glances, 


THE   SWORD   IN   THE   AIR  345 

I  could  read  it.  The  time  came.  Was  an 
envelope  ever  so  hard  to  tear  open?  It  was 
like  Nan  herself  refusing  to  talk.  How  black 
was  her  ink,  and  how  steady  her  hand ! 

"I  would  have  answered  sooner,"  she  said, 
"but  was  playing  with  a  dog.  Kirkpatrick  is 
here  for  a  few  days.  He  says  he  couldn't  stay 
away  any  longer.  The  marriage  is  to  take 
place  two  weeks  from  to-day.  Mr.  Bloodgood 
was  over  Sunday,  and  I  asked  him  if  he 
needed  any  more  boot  lotion.  He  bristled  up 
and  said  he  was  going  to  whip  you,  and  I  told 
him  he  could.  Can't  he?  Papa  says  your 
refusal  to  help  drive  the  negroes  proves  that 
his  teachings  haven't  been  altogether  in  vain. 
Do  you  like  pink?  I  am  to  wear  a  pink  dress 
at  the  wedding.  I  wish  it  were  done,  I  mean 
the  dress,  so  I  could  try  it  on  and  tell  you 
about  it.  Captain  Starks  says  you  whipped 
Mose  and  Tab  unmercifully.  Old  Riddle- 
berry  Buck  came  over  and  asked  me  if  it  were 
true,  as  if  I  knew  anything  about  it.  But  I  let 
on  like  I  did;  I  told  him  exactly  how  it  was 
done,  and  he  laughed  like  a  rusty  saw.  Now 
I  wonder  what  put  that  into  my  head.  But 
he  has  saw  teeth,  hasn't  he?  The  other  day 


346  "  TURK  " 

dad  got  a  long  letter  from  Mr.  Hoover,  and 
he  says  that  the  war  is  coming  fast  down 
toward  us,  and  I  looked  out  but  couldn't  see 
anything  of  it.  It  may  come  soon  enough; 
and  it  makes  no  difference  what  you  are,  I'm 
a  Yankee.  Mr.  Bloodgood  says  if  I  want  him 
to,  he  will  fight  for  the  North.  Isn't  that  nice 
of  him?  I  told  him  that  I  knew  of  somebody 
that  wouldn't  do  that  much  for  me,  and  he 
grinned  as  if  his  boots  were  hurting  him 
again.  Of  course  you  remember  old  Mr. 
Horner,  the  man  you  stole  the  whisky  from. 
They  found  him  sitting  in  his  stillhouse  dead, 
with  a  jug  of  whisky  beside  him.  Let  that  be 
warning  to  you.  I  am  glad  you  have  climbed 
so  high.  I  didn't  expect  it  of  you.  But  when 
are  you  going  to  try  to  be  a  gentleman?  Dad 
says  that  all  the  pollparrots  up  and  down  the 
river  learn  to  swear  from  the  mates.  You 
have  learned  to  write  so  it  can  be  read  here 
and  there,  but  when  are  you  going  to  learn  to 
spell?  We  haven't  had  but  one  crying  flurry 
since  you  left.  It  was  when  Amy  said  she 
thought  she  was  going  to  be  the  happiest  girl  in 
the  world,  and  mamma  said,  'Well,  if  you  are  so 
anxious  to  get  away  from  us  all,  it  is  a  wonder 


THE   SWORD   IN   THE    AIR  347 

you  hadn't  run  away  and  married  before  you 
came  home  from  school.'  She  was  crying 
when  Mr.  Kirkpatrick  came  in,  and  he  said 
something  about  'far  be  it  from  him,'  and  dad 
said  'far  be  it  from  him,'  and  mamma  wiped 
away  her  tears.  Who  should  come  over  last 
Saturday  night  but  Mr.  Nick  Bowles?  He  is 
as  handsome  as  ever  and  had  on  a  blue  vest 
with  a  red  gourd  vine  crawling  all  over  it. 
Dad  didn't  treat  him  any  too  well,  afraid  that 
he  had  come  to  see  me,  but  he  hadn't.  He 
wanted  your  address  so  he  could  write  to  you 
and  make  you  a  business  offer,  and  then 
mamma  turned  on  him.  She  said  that  you 
might  be  poor  and  one  of  the  ugliest  boys  on 
the  earth,  but  that  you  had  some  little  pride 
and  that  your  pride  would  keep  you  out  of 
the  saloon  business.  I  wonder  how  long  it 
will  be  before  they  hang  him.  The  other 
night  we  found  a  little  lamb  almost  frozen, 
and  we  put  it  on  the  hearth  and  gave  it  some 
milk,  and  now  it  is  standing  beside  me  as  I 
write.  I  don't  know  what  else  to  say.  Oh, 
you  wish  you  were  a  dog?  Wouldn't  you 
rather  be  this  little  sheep?  No,  you  couldn't 
be — it  isn't  a  black  one.  Well,  I  have  written 


348  '  TURK  " 

you  two  letters,  but  you  will  notice  that  I 
didn't  send  but  one  of  them.  I  tore  the  other 
one  up.  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  see  you 
again;  and  if  I  don't,  good-bye." 

All  these  words,  and  not  one  gleam  of  light 
thrown  upon  that  great  mystery,  her  heart. 
I  read  the  letter  again  and  again,  delving  for 
some  hidden  essence,  but  it  wasn't  there;  so  I 
tore  the  paper  into  bits  and  sifted  them  out 
upon  the  black  bosom  of  the  river. 

I  did  not  write  again,  I  hadn't  the  heart; 
and  though  I  worked  hard  at  my  calling,  it 
seemed  more  of  a  drudgery  and  less  of  a  pro 
fession  every  day.  The  clerk  had  a  number 
of  books,  and  I  read  many  of  them,  flimsy 
romances,  and  thus  my  time  was  all  but 
wasted.  But  I  laid  hold  of  one  volume  that 
possessed  a  vital  interest,  a  work  on  military 
tactics.  The  war  was  coming.  Along  the 
shores  they  were  beating  up  volunteers.  A 
man  from  the  North  spoke  of  the  coining 
struggle  as  a  "mere  breakfast  spell";  and  at 
several  landings,  sometimes  late  in  the  night 
when  rain  was  falling,  I  heard  people  shout 
that  one  Southerner  could  whip  three  Yan 
kees.  My  mind  was  made  up,  but  I  wanted  to 


THE   SWORD   IN   THE   AIR  349 

enlist  from  my  native  State.  So,  one  morn 
ing,  at  the  wharf  in  Nashville,  I  bade  the 
Blanche  Lewis  good-bye.  On  the  train  going 
toward  Louisville,  I  heard  that  Sumter  had 
been  fired  upon,  and  at  a  station  where  the 
train  halted,  I  saw  them  hoisting  a  new  flag. 
In  the  quiet  air  it  looked  impudent  but  cour 
ageous,  and  men  saluted  it.  Occasionally  an 
old  fellow  would  shake  his  head;  it  was  evi 
dently  the  flag  of  the  thoughtless  young. 
Northern  Tennessee  was  almost  a  solid  camp, 
all  for  the  South;  but  along  up  in  Kentucky 
there  was  blue  mixed  in  with  the  gray. 
Neighbors,  friends,  brothers,  they  were  loth 
to  smite  one  another.  But  swords  were 
drawn,  and  the  conflict  could  not  long  be 
averted.  It  is  harder  to  reconcile  differences 
of  principle  than  differences  of  blood. 

At  the  railway  station  where  I  had  seen  the 
tan  bark,  I  hired  a  spring  wagon  from  a 
farmer  and  drove  into  Scoville.  The  town 
was  mostly  for  the  Union,  but  in  an  old  field 
not  far  away  there  was  a  Confederate  camp. 
I  saw  Nick,  in  gray,  trailing  a  cavalry  sword. 
He  told  me  that  Colonel  Pearson  would  like 
to  see  me,  and  that  he  was  in  the  Confederate 


350  "  TURK  " 

camp.  Thither  I  went  and  found  him  sitting 
beneath  a  tree,  writing  names  on  a  roll  of 
paper.  When  I  told  him  my  name  he  got  up 
and  shook  hands  with  me. 

"I  don't  know  whether  you  know  anything 
about  it  or  not,"  said  he,  "but  my  people  fa 
vored  your  people  against  the  Nesbitts." 

"Yes,  I  have  heard  of  it." 

He  nodded.  "And  my  oldest  brother  lost 
his  life.  Now,  the  only  surviving  kinsman  of 
the  Nesbitts  is  out  for  the  Yankees.,  and  Lou 
Biddle,  the  town  marshal,  although  he 
opposed  abolition  and  is  the  man  who  really 
organized  a  gang  to  whip  Professor  Emory 
on  a  night  that  you  no  doubt  remember — he, 
Biddle,  is  a  Yankee  captain." 

"Then  what  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  I 
asked,  and  he  pointed  to  the  names  on  his 
roll.  "I  want  you  here.  I  have  organized  an 
independent  command.  Some  people  may  go 
so  far  as  to  call  it  a  guerrilla  band.  But  no 
matter.  I  know  your  blood.  Join  me,  and  I 
will  make  you  a  captain.  Remember  your 
obligation.  My  people  helped  yours.  Will 
you  give  me  your  hand?" 

I  did.     He  called  a  negro  and  ordered  him 


THE   SWORD   IN   THE   AIR  351 

to  bring  forth  Kaintuck,  a  beautiful  iron-gray 
horse,  which  was  presented  to  me,  and  then  I 
was  assigned  to  quarters.  Before  putting  on 
my  uniform,  I  requested  permission  to  ride 
over  to  the  professor's,  but  upon  this  the 
colonel  frowned. 

"You  will  find  him  a  Yankee  major,  full- 
fledged,  and  as  bitter  as  gall-nut.  However, 
go  ahead;  you  know  how  to  take  care  of 
yourself." 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  at  night  when  I 
halted  at  the  gate.  I  halloed,  the  professor 
came  to  the  door,  and  when  I  made  myself 
known,  he  bade  me  come  in.  He  looked  at 
me  hard  and  close  when  I  came  into  the  light 
that  fell  through  the  door,  to  determine  my 
color,  but  finding  no  mark  of  either  one  side 
or  the  other,  shook  hands  with  me.  There 
was  in  the  room  none  save  himself  until  I 
entered,  and  then  we  stood  cool,  face  to  face. 
He  wore  the  uniform  of  a  Federal  major,  and 
his  shoulder  straps  gleamed  in  the  light. 

"Well,  you  have  come  back,"  he  said,  and 
before  I  replied,  he  added,  "Sit  down."  But  I 
thanked  him,  saying  that  I  had  but  a  few 
moments  to  stay.  Then  he  looked  at  me,  and 


352  "  TURK  " 

in  his  gaze  I  read  his  inquiry  as  to  why  I  had 
come.  It  was  to  see  Nan — that  was  all,  but  I 
could  not  tell  him.  I  wondered  where  she  was. 

"Does  Miss  Amy  live — -" 

"Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  lives  in  her  own  home," 
he  broke  in. 

"Is  Miss  Nan  visiting  her?" 

"My  younger  daughter  is  here,  at  home, 
sir,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Emory  came  in  from  the  dining-room. 
She  was  surprised  to  see  me,  but  the  professor 
cleared  his  throat,  and  she  seemed  instantly 
to  alter  her  intention  of  bidding  me  welcome. 
But  standing  there  with  nothing  to  say  was 
awkward,  and  I  sat  down.  The  professor 
continued  to  stand,  on  the  hearth,  back  to  the 
fire.  Would  Nan  never  come?  She  did, 
opened  the  door  just  a  little,  and  peeped  in, 
and  then  she  entered,  shivering  as  if  she 
were  cold.  About  her  she  wore  a  red  shawl, 
a  sumach  bush  touched  by  the  frost,  I 
thought.  She  held  out  her  hand.  Again  the 
professor  cleared  his  throat,  and  she  laughed, 
which  made  her  seem  colder  than  her  shiver. 

"I  suppose,"  said  the  professor,  "you  have 
come  back  to " 


THE   SWORD   IN   THE   AIR  353 

"Eat  supper,"  Nan  broke  in.  "You  don't 
look  any  too  well  fed,  Turk." 

"Mr.  Griffin,"  the  professor  corrected  her. 

"Oh,  excuse  me,  Mr.  Griffin,"  said  Nan. 
"But  won't  you  have  some  supper?" 

At  this  the  professor  was  not  pleased;  and  I, 
thanking  her,  told  her  that  I  had  eaten,  which 
she  knew  was  a  lie.  After  an  embarrassing 
pause  the  professor  began  to  wind  his  watch. 

"Come,  sir,"  he  said,  "tell  us  where  you 
stand.  Have  you  come  back  to  fight  for  or 
against  your  State?  She  has  refused  to  go 
out  of  the  Union.  Have  you  refused?" 

"I  have  called,  Major,  to  spend  a  few  peace 
ful  moments  in  your  house,  the  only  home  I 
have  ever  known.  And  I  don't  think  it  will 
be  hard  for  you  to  remember  that  I  was  will 
ing  to  defend  this  home  with  my  life." 

"I  know  all  about  that,  sir.  But  wasn't  it 
quite  as  much  your  inherent  fondness  for  a 
fight  as " 

"Walter,"  his  wife  spoke  up,  "don't  dis 
credit  his  faithfulness.  You  know  he  was 
faithful.  You  know  he  could  have  got  you 
into  trouble  by  simply  uttering  a  word.  To 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  sorry  for  him  this 


354  "  TURK  " 

minute.  Don't  you  see  he  wants  to  tell  us 
how  much  he  thinks  of  us?  Don't  you?" 

The  professor  smiled,  but  in  bitterness. 
"He  does  not  think  enough  of  us  to 

"But,  Walter,  he  hasn't  said  which  side  he  is 
on,  and  I  don't  know  that  we  have  any  right 
to  ask  him." 

"Yes,  we  have,  Louise.  I  have  the  right 
and  not  only  that,  the  authority  vested  in  me  by 
the  Government.  If  you  are  a  rebel,  say  so." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  like  the  word  rebel  any 
too  well." 

"Oh,  I  think  it's  beautiful,"  said  Nan.  "It 
sounds  like  running  away  and  having  a  good 
time." 

"Nanette,"  solemnly  spoke  the  professor,  "it 
is  high  time  you  were  leaving  off  your  silli 
ness." 

I  arose  and,  standing  squarely  in  front  of 
the  professor,  said  to  him,  "It  doesn't  require 
any  beating  about  the  bush  to  find  out  which 
side  I  am  on.  A  long  time  ago  you  asked 
me,  and  I  told  you.  It  was  born  in  me  to 
fight  for  the  South.  I  will  not  try  to  explain 
why.  It  is  not  that  I  wish  the  negroes  to  be 
kept  in  slavery.  I  don't  give  a  snap  for  the 


"HIS  SWORD  WAS  HANGING  NEAR  THE  MANTLEPIECE" 


THE   SWORD   IN   THE   AIR  355 

negro  one  way  or  the  other.     But  I  belong  to 
the  family  of  the  South." 

"Get  out  of  my  house." 

I  bowed  to  him.  "But  won't  you  let  me  go 
upstairs  to  look  once  again  at  my  garret — my 
bed?" 

"Out  with  you,  or  I'll  strike  you  to  the 
earth." 

His  sword  was  hanging  near  the  mantel 
piece.  He  seized  it,  stripped  it  of  the  scab 
bard  and  stood  with  it  in  his  hand.  I  made 
no  show  of  resentment.  My  blood  leaped,  but 
it  fell  back  cool.  Nan  was  holding  the  door 
open.  As  I  passed  out,  she  stepped  down 
into  the  yard.  I  heard  the  professor  roar  at 
her.  I  heard  his  sword  strike  against  some 
thing.  But  I  seized  her  in  my  arms — seized 
her  with  such  fury  that  she  could  make  no 
outcry — seized  her  and  kissed  her  like  a  sav 
age,  like  an  animal  devouring  its  prey — kissed 
her  hot  lips;  and  when  I  released  her,  she 
sank  upon  the  steps,  and  there  was  'the  pro 
fessor  with  his  sword  flashing  above  my  head. 
I  sprang  back  as  the  blade  cleft  the  air,  and 
then  I  ran,  not  in  fear  but  in  wild  delight,  and 
leaped  upon  my  horse. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

DID   NOT  BEG   FOR   HIS  LIFE 

TARTAR    that    had     stolen     a 


maiden  ever  galloped  more  furi 
ously  than  I  did  through  the  dark 
ness  and  the  splashing  mud,  back 
to  the  camp.  I  knew  that  henceforth  Nan 
was  to  be  my  mortal  enemy,  with  just  cause 
to  take  my  life  if  opportunity  ever  offered, 
but  I  palliated  my  brutal  conscience  with  the 
reflection  that  she  had  brought  it  upon  her 
self.  Year  after  year,  had  she  not  tantalized 
me  in  my  heart-hunger  for  a  kind  word? 
Had  she  not  gazed  at  me  through  her  cross- 
barred  fingers  and  danced  in  mockery  when 
for  one  look  of  sympathy  I  would  have 
thanked  her  on  my  knees?  But  with  all  this 
self-defense,  I  felt  that  I  had  robbed  her,  and 
in  my  mind  the  kisses  became  tangible  things, 
roses  torn  to  pieces.  Ah,  but  the  memory  of 
them  was  fiercely  sweet  and  more  than  worth 
the  price,  the  risk  of  death. 

Upon  reaching  the  camp,  I  found  the  com- 
356 


DID   NOT   BEG   FOR   HIS   LIFE        357 

mand  ready  to  move.  The  war  had  begun  in 
earnest,  and  during  that  afternoon  there  had 
been  a  skirmish  between  our  band  and  Lou 
Riddle's  independent  company.  So  we  fell 
back  fifty  miles  to  the  southward,  while  into 
the  territory  which  we  were  forced  to  abandon 
came  the  steadfast  army  of  the  North.  I 
shall  not  write  of  the  skirmishes  in  which  I 
bore  a  part,  for  this  is  a  personal  and,  I  hope, 
a  modest  recital  rather  than  the  history  of 
battles.  I  was  a  captain,  it  is  true,  but  little 
better  was  I  than  a  freebooter.  With  no 
higher  authority  than  our  own  will,  we  im 
pressed  horses,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  Pear 
son  did  not  go  so  far  as  to  extort  money. 
This  brought  to  me  a  determination  to  join 
the  regular  Confederate  forces,  and  it  was 
only  the  hope  of  getting  Biddle's  scalp  that 
kept  me  from  deserting  our  band. 

In  my  company  was  an  old  fellow  named 
Slayton.  He  had  been  reputed  to  be  the  pos 
sessor  of  vast  wealth,  and  I  wondered  that  he 
should  suffer  the  privations  of  the  rank  and 
file  of  an  adventurous  gang  when  with  the 
influence  of  money  he  might  easily  find  a 
position  in  the  army.  I  put  the  question  to 


358  "  TURK  " 

him,  and  he  told  me  that  he,  too,  wanted  a 
shot  at  Lou  Biddle.  "I  was  living  not  far 
from  Old  Blood,"  said  he,  "and  one  night  not 
long  ago  Biddle  came  to  my  house,  tied  me 
flat  upon  the  ground  and  built  a  fire  at  my 
feet  to  torture  out  of  me  the  whereabouts  of 
my  money.  What  little  money  I  possessed 
had  been  sent  South,  and  I  told  him  so;  but 
he  didn't  believe  me  and  would  have  burnt 
my  feet  off  if  you  boys  hadn't  happened  along. 
And  now  all  I  want  is  a  chance  at  him." 

We  had  dashed  back  into  the  enemy's  coun 
try  and  for  a  day  and  a  night  were  camped  at 
Old  Blood.  Old  Slayton  said  that  he  would 
improve  the  opportunity  of  renewing  acquaint 
ance  with  tender  memories,  as  he  put  it, 
which  he  did  during  the  day  and  the  most  of 
the  night  by  sitting  beside  his  brother's  grave. 
I  came  upon  him  as  I  was  wandering  about 
among  the  graves  of  my  people.  "This  is  the 
only  relation  I  have  here,"  he  said,  pointing 
to  a  headstone,  and,  looking  at  it,  I  read, 
"James  Slayton,  born  December  8,  1815;  died 
of  smallpox,  October  2,  1861." 

"He  was  the  best  man  that  ever  lived,"  said 
the  old  fellow;  "and  if  he  had  lived,  I  wouldn't 


DID   NOT   BEG    FOR   HIS   LIFE       359 

have  gone  into  this  squabble.  He  had  lived 
in  the  North  nearly  all  his  life,  and  I  had 
about  made  arrangements  to  go  up  there  with 
him — the  fact  is  he  came  after  me,  but  he 
took  smallpox  coming  through  Louisville  and 
died  at  my  house." 

When  the  moon  came  up,  and  while  we 
were  getting  ready  to  decamp,  the  poor  old 
man  sang  a  hymn  over  his  brother's  grave, 
bowed  three  times  as  if  going  through  with 
some  sort  of  Masonic  right,  and  turned  sadly 
away.  He  had  never  married,  on  account  of 
his  miserly  nature,  the  boys  said;  but  it  was 
evident  that  in  his  heart  there  was  a  love 
nobler  than  the  love  for  earthly  possessions 
and  he  had  the  merit  of  being  game.  Many 
times  we  were  in  dangerous  quarters,  but  I 
never  knew  him  to  quail.  I  felt  that  he  was 
inclined  to  be  more  honorable  than  our  aver 
age  trooper,  and  once  I  hinted  that  it  would 
be  well  for  him  and  me  to  give  over  the  life 
of  the  guerrilla  and  to  join  Forrest,  who  was 
not  far  from  us.  For  a  time  he  said  nothing, 
but  he  took  my  hand  and  was  pressing  it 
when  Nick  Bowles  came  along. 

"We  are  just  shaking  hands  on  a  proposi- 


360  '  TURK  " 

tion,"  he  said  to  Nick,  and  I  wondered  if  he 
were  going  to  betray  me;  but  when  Nick 
inquired  as  to  the  nature  of  the  proposition 
he  said,  "That  we  shall  make  it  the  object  of 
our  lives  to  catch  Lou  Biddle." 

"Got  a  little  interest  in  him  myself,"  replied 
Nick.  "The  last  time  he  came  into  my 
saloon,  he  threw  a  bottle  at  my  head,  and 
that's  no  way  to  make  love  to  me." 

Pearson  had  full  confidence  in  me,  and  I  was 
sorry  to  leave  him,  but  I  had  some  little  honor 
left;  and  I  had  discharged  the  Griffin  debt. 
It  was  a  war  of  chicanery,  of  hatred  fiercer 
than  the  hatred  existing  between  mere  ene 
mies,  and  I  often  wondered  what  good  was  to 
come  from  Southern  success.  But  that  ques 
tion  often  arose  among  the  poverty-stricken 
fellows  that  were  fighting  for  an  aristocracy; 
and  I  heard  an  old  man,  one  of  the  sharpest 
shooters  of  the  war,  declare  that  he  was  going 
to  fight  to  the  end,  but  that  if  the  South  suc 
ceeded  he  would  turn  his  back  upon  it  and 
live  in  a  foreign  country. 

Occasionally  we  heard  from  the  professor. 
He  was  in  the  cavalry  with  Wolford;  was  des 
perately  dashing,  and  had  hanged  at  least  five 


DID   NOT   BEG   FOR   HIS   LIFE        361 

of  Pearson's  men.  "But  we'll  pick  him  up 
one  of  these  nights,"  said  Pearson.  "And  I 
reckon  you've  got  an  old  score  to  settle  with 
him,  Turk." 

I    had  told   him    of  the   professor's   sword, 
flashing  above  my  head,  but  had  not  told  him 
the  truth  as  to  the  cause.     "Yes,"  I  replied, 
"and  when  you  catch  him,  I  hope  you'll  be  so 
obliging  as  to  turn  him  over  to  me." 

"All  right,  if  you'll  agree  to  give  me  your 
interest  in  Lou  Biddle." 

We  struck  a  bargain.  "Hope  you'll  give 
me  one  bite  out  of  him,"  said  Nick.  "I  ain't 
forgot  the  time  he  sailed  that  flat  rock  at 
me." 

A  few  evenings  after  this,  I  had  just 
returned  from  a  wild  dash  into  Scoville  when 
Nick  met  me  at  the  outer  edge  of  the  camp. 
"How  does  the  old  town  look?"  he  asked  with 
a  touch  of  homesickness  in  his  voice. 

"Pretty  red.    They  killed  six  of  my  men." 

"Did  they  git  old  Slayton?" 

"No,  he's  all  right." 

I  was  about  to  pass  on,  leading  my  horse, 
when  Nick  said,  "I  reckon  you've  come 
twenty-five  miles  in  a  hurry.  And  I  want  to 


362  "TURK" 

say  you  are  the  luckiest  man  in  the  world,  and 
yo'  luck  on  this  here  occasion  don't  lie  in 
the  fact  that  you  got  out  of  Scoville  alive. 
There's  somethin'  waitin'  for  you  that  will 
make  yo'  heart  dance  a  jig." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Can't  you  guess?"  He  came  closer  to  me, 
and  by  the  light  of  a  fire  I  saw  his  old-time 
grin. 

"Don't  think  I  can.     What  is  it?" 

"They  have  cotched  the  professor." 

"What,  you  don't  tell  me!" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  who  else  does  if  I  don't. 
Pearson's  got  him  right  over  yonder  by  the 
fire." 

I  hastened  to  headquarters,  and  there  was 
the  professor,  sitting  on  a  log  with  his  hands 
tied  behind  him.  As  I  strode  into  the  light, 
still  leading  my  horse,  the  old  man  looked  up 
and  then  without  a  word  looked  down  again. 
It  was  evident  to  me  that  he  wasn't  going  to 
beg  for  his  life.  Pearson  came  out  of  a  shack 
built  of  rails.  "Well,"  said  he,  "where's  my 
man  Biddle?" 

"I  could  have  killed  him,  but  I  knew  you 
wanted  him  alive." 


DID   NOT   BEG   FOR   HIS   LIFE        363 

"You  are  right.  I  suppose  you  recognize 
this  gentleman?" 

"Think  I've  seen  him  before." 

"Ah,  hah!  The  boys  brought  him  in  this 
afternoon." 

"Does  he  belong  to  me?" 

"I  am  a  man  of  my  word." 

"All  right,  Colonel.  I  did  think  of  hanging 
him;  but  as  he  is  rather  a  brave  soldier,  I 
think  he  merits  shooting." 

"You  are  improving  in  your  language,"  said 
the  professor. 

"Yes,  thanks  to  the  books  you  so  kindly 
permitted  me  to  read.  And  now,  Colonel,  as 
I  am  not  a  man  to  put  off  a  pleasure,  I'll  dispose 
of  him  at  once.  Will  you  take  a  walk  with 
me,  sir?" 

The  professor  got  up  without  a  word  and 
faced  about.  "This  way,"  said  I.  They  had 
"hobbled"  him  with  a  rope,  and  his  steps  were 
short.  I  told  him  to  take  his  time.  Nick 
came  up  and  said  that  he  had  always  been  my 
friend.  "And  I  think,"  said  he,  "you  ought  to 
let  me  go  along  and  take  a  crack  at  him." 

"Stay  where  you  are,"  I  commanded.  "This 
is  a  private  affair.  I  have  something  to  say  to 


364  "TURK" 

him  that  I  don't  want  any  one  to  hear.  This 
way,  professor." 

"Major,  sir,"  he  said. 

There  was  no  path,  but  in  the  woods  there 
was  no  underbrush.  Not  far  off  was  a  sink 
hole.  "A  better  grave  than  you  deserve,"  I 
remarked,  telling  him  of  a  thorn  tree  that 
grew  upon  the  brink.  "I  hope  your  people  are 
well,  Major.  Does  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  live " 

"She  lives  in  her  own  home,  sir." 

"Is  her  husband  in  the  army?" 

"A  captain  of  artillery,  sir." 

"You  find  that  rope  about  your  legs  incon 
venient.  Shall  I  take  it  off  ?" 

"No.  You  would  put  me  to  the  temptation 
of  kicking  you." 

"You  see  how  gentlemanly  our  fellows  are," 
said  I.  "They  are  not  following  to  spy  upon 
your  death." 

"Again  let  me  compliment  you  upon  the 
improvement  in  your  language.  When  we 
met  the  last  time " 

"You  gave  me  no  opportunity  to  show  my 
improvement,"  I  broke  in. 

"Possibly  not.  You  deserved  nothing  but 
death  at  my  hands." 


DID   NOT   BEG   FOR   HIS   LIFE        365 

"Well,  here  we  are,"  said  I.  "And  now  I 
have  a  few  words  to  say  to  you.  I  am  going 
to  untie  you  and  put  you  on  my  horse,  and 
when  you  have  ridden  off  a  few  hundred 
yards,  I'm  going  to  fire  four  or  five  shots  into 
this  sink  hole  and  then  throw  in  old  stumps 
and  leaves,  to  cover  you  up,  you  see.  There 
is  not  power  enough  in  all  the  Confederacy  to 
make  me  kill  you." 

For  a  moment  he  stood  as  if  stupefied,  and 
then  cried  out,  "Turk,  God  bless  you." 

"And  God  bless  you — you  and  the  rest  of 
them  at  home.  Now  keep  quiet."  I  untied 
him  and  helped  him  upon  the  horse.  Lean 
ing  over  he  put  his  arm  about  my  neck,  and 
then  without  a  word  slowly  rode  away.  I 
watched  him  for  a  time  and  then  began  to  fire 
into  the  sink  hole.  A  shout  arose  in  the 
camp,  and  to  the  tune  of  "John  Brown's 
Body,"  some  one  began  to  sing: 

"There  goes  another  Yank  a-lookin'  for  his 
grave." 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

ON  THE   LAKE   SHORE 

HAD  given  my  beautiful  iron-gray 
horse  to  the  professor,  and  return 
ing  to  the  camp  I  fashioned  a  lie  in 
self-defense.  My  plan  was  to 
swear  on  the  following  morning  that  he  had 
been  stolen  during  the  night,  but  a  quite  nat 
ural  event  relieved  me  of  the  necessity  of  tell 
ing  a  falsehood,  for  along  toward  midnight  we 
were  surprised  by  Federal  cavalry  and  com 
pletely  routed.  Our  pickets  had  been  eluded 
or  quietly  butchered,  and  as  resistance  was 
useless,  our  men  fled  in  every  direction.  I 
sprang  upon  the  first  horse  that  came  to 
hand.  A  few  of  us  rallied  about  daylight 
when  it  was  learned  that  Pearson  had  been 
killed.  By  this  time  we  were  near  the  Ten 
nessee  line,  and  crossing  over  we  soon  came 
upon  Forrest.  I  had  no  hope  of  retaining 
my  captaincy  under  this  hard-headed  and 
exacting  warrior,  so  Slayton  and  I  joined  the 

ranks.      Nick   Bowles   had   come   along,   and 

366 


ON   THE   LAKE   SHORE  367 

soon  drew  attention  to  himself  by  mysteri 
ously  getting  whisky  and  selling  it  to  the  sol 
diers.  He  was  put  in  the  guardhouse,  and  I 
heard  Forrest  say  to  him,  "I  catch  you  at  that 
sort  of  thing  again,  and  I'll  hang  you  as  high 
as  Haman." 

And  now  it  was  a  constant  fight,  day  after 
day.  One  night  I  heard  that  Nick  had  been 
taken  up  again,  and  the  next  morning  he  was 
court-martialed  and  found  guilty  of  holding 
communication  with  the  enemy.  The  proof 
was  not  to  be  waived  aside,  and,  in  fact,  he 
had  deserted  when  captured.  Together  with 
a  corporal's  squad,  I  was  detailed  to  hang  him. 
I  was  accustomed  to  blood  and  to  death  in  all 
its  varied  forms,  but  this  was  a  creepy  assign 
ment,  and  I  would  have  begged  off,  did  try  it,  in 
fact,  but  found  it  useless.  We  took  the  poor 
wretch  to  the  handiest  tree,  stood  him  on  a 
barrel  and  tied  a  rope  about  his  neck.  What 
sort  of  mocking  fate  was  it  that  compelled  me 
to  tie  the  rope?  We  watched  him  until  he 
had  ceased  to  kick,  and  then  rode  on.  Poor 
devil,  he  seemed  to  have  been  born  for  that 
especial  purpose. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  I  saw  my  native 


368  "  TURK  " 

State  again,  and  when  I  turned  northward,  it 
was  in  a  detail  from  Forrest  to  go  with  Mor 
gan  upon  his  raid  into  Indiana.  I  haven't 
found  out  yet  what  object  could  have  been 
served  by  that  raid.  A  child  could  have  seen 
that  it  was  to  be  a  losing  game.  We  crossed 
the  river  as  conquerors,  we  made  many  a  gal 
lant  stand,  and  cut  many  a  swirling  dash;  but 
the  entire  country  was  in  arms  against  us. 
Finally  the  command  was  scattered,  and  then 
it  was  a  running  fight  to  get  back  over  into 
Kentucky.  One  afternoon  when  tired  out 
with  flight,  we  were  captured,  ten  of  us;  and 
then  we  learned  that  Morgan  himself  had 
been  taken.  So  this  was  the  end  of  our  bril 
liant  but  foolhardy  dash  into  the  North. 

On  the  lake  shore,  at  Chicago,  a  prison 
camp  had  been  named  after  the  statesman 
Douglas.  Thither  we  were  taken,  and  found 
so  many  of  our  acquaintances  there  that  our 
arrival  was  in  the  nature  of  a  reunion.  The 
discipline  was  exacting;  to  cross  a  line  was 
sure  death;  but  how  quiet  and  peaceful  was 
it  all  compared  with  the  storms  through 
which  we  had  passed !  For  a  time,  a  year  at 
least,  we  drew  better  rations  than  had  graced 


ON  THE   LAKE   SHORE  369 

our  most  sumptuous  days  in  the  field;  though, 
in  retaliation  for  Andersonville,  we  were  made 
to  feel  that  we  were  not  guests  of  honor. 
For  weeks  at  a  time  we  were  almost  famished, 
and  for  trivial  offenses  the  punishment  was 
often  inhuman.  Not  far  from  my  quarters 
there  had  been  put  up  a  high  board  with  a 
sharp  edge.  It  was  called  Morgan's  mule, 
and  sometimes  for  a  word,  a  mere  look,  our 
men  were  set  astride  upon  it.  Once  a  young 
ster  complained  that  he  couldn't  ride  without 
stirrups,  and  they  tied  bricks  to  his  feet.  But 
in  a  way  I  was  delighted,  for  in  my  square  a 
school  was  opened  by  men  competent  and 
anxious  to  teach.  Books  were  supplied  by 
sisters  of  charity.  Slayton,  old  as  he  was, 
became  a  student  of  political  economy.  He 
did  not  expect  ever  to  have  any  active  use  for 
the  science,  but  the  word  "economy"  appealed 
to  his  habits  and  his  fancy.  He  and  I  bunked 
together.  By  some  means  he  had  smuggled 
in  a  twenty-five-cent  silver  piece,  and  the  boys 
used  to  say  that  he  would  wear  it  out  with 
counting  it. 

As   I    advanced   well    into   my  studies,  so 
absorbing  did  they  become  that  I  often  for- 


370  "  TURK  " 

got  my  hunger.  The  president  of  our  univer 
sity  was  a  Harvard  man,  and  he  predicted 
that  I  would  carry  off  the  honors  of  my  class. 

One  night  the  plan  of  a  conspiracy  to 
escape  was  made  known  to  me.  From  the 
outside  we  were  to  receive  help,  and  then 
across  the  prairies  we  were  to  gallop  toward 
freedom.  I  did  not  approve  the  plan.  The 
fact  was  that  I  did  not  desire  my  liberty.  For 
the  privilege  of  drinking  at  the  fount  of  learn 
ing,  I  was  willing  to  endure  all  sorts  of  bodily 
privations.  The  attempt  was  made,  however, 
and  failed.  Several  men  were  hanged,  and 
we  resumed  our  duties  of  submission  and  of 
hunger. 

The  sight  of  an  Italian  girl,  walking  through 
the  prison  with  a  priest,  brought  me  to  the 
notion  of  writing  to  Nan.  I  knew  that  not 
even  the  sparing  of  her  father's  life  could 
have  softened  her  into  a  forgiveness  toward 
me,  but  I  mused  that  in  her  scorn  there  might 
be  a  reminiscent  pleasure;  and  so  I  wrote  to 
her,  not  asking  her  to  forget  my  brutality,  but 
giving  her  an  account  of  my  life  on  the  lake 
shore.  When  the  letter  had  been  read  by  the 
authorities  and  passed  on  into  the  postoffice, 


ON  THE   LAKE   SHORE  371 

I  was  seized  with  a  fear  that  her  scorn  might 
be  of  the  silent-contempt  variety,  and  then  I 
regretted  having  written.  The  days  passed, 
and  no  word  came  from  her.  But  when 
nearly  two  months  had  gone  by,  a  letter 
came.  Nervously  I  tore  open  the  envelope, 
and  sitting  on  the  edge  of  my  bunk,  with  the 
wind  howling  and  the  snow  drifting  outside,  I 
read  her  words,  over  and  over  again.  Had 
she  waited  to  school  herself  into  silence  on 
the  subject  of  my  outrageous  conduct?  No 
hint  did  she  drop  that  a  memory  of  it  dwelled 
in  her  mind. 

"We  thought  that  you  must  have  been 
killed  long  ago,"  she  said.  "Colonel  Lou 
Biddle,  who  was  at  our  house  some  time  last 
spring,  said  that  he  was  almost  certain  you 
had  been  killed  on  the  night  when  Pearson's 
guerrillas  were  cut  to  pieces.  Running  a  great 
risk  to  save  father  was  a  noble  act  on  your 
part,  and  although  I  know  that  in  many  ways 
you  are  unforgiving,  yet  I  was  not  surprised. 
Mr.  Bloodgood  went  into  the  Union  army,  as 
he  said  he  would  do  for  me,  but  after  serving 
his  first  enlistment,  refused  to  become  a 
veteran  by  reenlisting  unless  I  would  agree  to 


372  "  TURK  " 

marry  him.  Was  I  not  sufficiently  patriotic  to 
do  this  ?  Do  I  not  love  my  country?  And 
there  is  so  little  a  woman  can  do,  you  know. 
He  was  tall  and,  in  his  uniform,  rather  hand 
some,  with  much  shining  brass  about  him  and 
with  never  a  suggestion  that  his  boots  were 
pinching.  I  admit  that  all  this  was  a  tempta 
tion,  but  I  didn't  marry  him.  It  was  your  old 
friend  Champ  Jones,  I  believe,  who  said  that 
I  was  to  make  some  man  miserable.  Was  it 
because  I  respected  this  man  too  much  to 
make  him  unhappy?  We  have  not  seen 
father  for  a  long  time,  as  he  is  in  the  South; 
but  he  writes  regularly.  Amy's  captain  has 
been  discharged  on  account  of  a  wound,  but 
appears  to  be  as  well  as  ever.  He  says  that 
as  soon  as  the  war  is  over  he  is  going  to  estab 
lish  a  school.  Of  course  you  don't  know  that 
Amy  has  a  boy.  She  has.  He  is  more  than 
a  year  old,  and  on  his  stick-horse  has  joined 
the  cavalry.  And  so  at  last  you  have  a 
chance  to  study.  Try  to  believe  that  the  war 
was  brought  about  for  that  especial  purpose. 
It  might  make  you  feel  better.  Mr.  Hoover 
is  the  chaplain  of  a  regiment  quartered  not 
far  from  Scoville.  Last  Sunday  mamma  and  I 


ON  THE   LAKE   SHORE  373 

went  to  hear  him  preach.  He  has  taken 
nearly  all  the  little  children  out  of  torment, 
and  has  supplied  their  places  with  rebels  and 
occasionally  a  rebel  child.  I  suppose  you 
know  that  Nick  Bowles  was  hanged.  Riddle- 
berry  Buck,  while  hauling  salt  from  over  in 
Tennessee,  came  upon  him  swinging  from  a 
limb,  poor  fellow,  and  cut  him  down  and 
buried  him.  I  asked  Mr.  Hoover  what,  in  his 
opinion,  had  become  of  Nick's  soul,  and  he 
said  that,  all  things  considered,  it  must  be  in  a 
bad  way.  I  don't  know  that  you  deserve  so 
long  a  letter,  but  here  it  is.  And  I  must  ask 
you  not  to  write  again.  I  don't  say  this  out 
of  meanness,  but  because  I  can't  help  feeling 
that  the  war  has  made  us  enemies.  No,  I 
don't  mean  that.  How  could  you  be  my 
enemy  when  you  have  proved  my  father's 
friend  and  rescuer?  Still,  I  don't  want  to 
hear  from  you  again  until  the  war  is  over." 

Never  had  she  been  so  self-contained;  but 
before  reading  halfway  through  the  letter,  I 
felt  that  I  was  not  to  write  again.  Yet  some 
how  I  could  not  get  it  out  of  my  head  that  the 
professor's  house  was  my  home. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

CONCLUSION 

E  WERE  permitted  to  study  the 
past,  the  campaigns  of  Caesar,  but 
were  kept  ignorant  of  the  progress 
of  the  great  war,  except  in  so  far 
as  our  information  came  through  channels 
purified  of  all  criticism.  For  the  most  part, 
the  news  of  the  day  that  reached  us  was  in 
the  nature  of  orations  on  the  glory  achieved  by 
Union  arms  at  the  front.  That  there  must  be 
an  occasional  reverse,  we  could  divine  through 
atmospheric  influences  from  the  outside,  a 
stillness  that  fell  for  days  at  a  time.  The 
continuous  want  of  food  may  make  one  spirit 
ual,  and  in  the  absence  of  beef  there  may  be  a 
psychic  intuition.  Freedom  of  speech  was 
denied,  but  in  whispers  at  night  we  spoke  of 
the  last  heroic  struggle  of  the  South.  But 
prospect  was  dead  and  there  was  no  hope, 
save  that  the  war  might  soon  come  to  an  end. 
Smallpox  broke  out  in  our  square,  in  my 
room,  my  bunk.  Old  Slayton  was  stricken. 
Cases  were  so  numerous  that  the  sufferers 
were  not  isolated,  but  remained  to  take  care 
of  companions  who,  in  their  weakness,  needed 

374 


CONCLUSION      .  375 

attention.  In  his  delirium  Slayton  moaned 
over  the  grave  at  Old  Blood.  One  night, 
with  his  mind  partly  wandering,  he  said, 
"Strange  that  he  should  die  of  smallpox  and 
that  I  should,  too.  But  Lou  Biddle  couldn't 
get  him."  Day  by  day  he  grew  worse,  and  I 
knew  that  he  was  soon  to  be  taken  out  to  the 
frozen  field.  One  morning,  when  his  mind 
was  clear,  he  said  to  me,  "When  we  are  alone, 
there  is  something  I  want  to  say  to  you." 

"We  are  alone  now." 

"Where  is  Charley  Sharp?"  he  inquired, 
meaning  one  of  our  roommates. 

"He  has  gone  out." 

"Did  they  take  him  out?  Don't  fear  to  tell 
me." 

"Yes.     He  died  last  night." 

"They  will  take  me  next." 

"No,  you  may  get  well." 

On  his  black  pillow  I  saw  his  poor  old  head 
shaking.  "It  can't  be.  I  know.  And  you 
have  nursed  me  day  and  night,  and  you  gave 
me  all  the  blanket  when  it  was  cold.  Do  you 
know  where  my  brother  is  buried?" 

"Yes,  at  Old  Blood." 

"Has  any  one  come  in?" 

"No,  we  are  alone." 

"Where  is  the  guard?" 

"On  his  beat  at  the  far  end  of  the  line." 

"Is  he?  Then  I  will  tell  you  something, 
Turk.  I  never  had  a  brother." 


376  "  TURK  " 

I  thought  that  again  his  mind  was  wander 
ing,  but  he  raised  himself  up  and  gave  me  a 
strange  look  and  a  smile.  "Listen  to  me.  I 
never  had  a  brother.  It  was  a  trick.  That 
grave  holds  my  gold,  gold — in  an  iron  box, 
the  greed  of  a  lifetime.  After  Biddle  burnt 
my  feet,  I  put  it  there;  and  as  I  told  you,  my 
sole  aim  in  fighting  was  to  kill  him.  It  shall 
be  yours,  Turk.  It  will  make  you  rich,  this 
gold  of  my  grandfather's  and  father's. 
Believe  what  I  say.  My  mind  is  sound  now, 
but  before  long  it  will  wander  again,  and  if  I 
talk  as  if  I  were  at  the  grave,  make  a  noise  so 
no  one  can  understand.  Ah,  you  said  we  were 
alone.  There  is  a  man  over  in  that  bunk." 

"Yes,  Sam  Atterson,  but  he  is  dead.  They 
are  coming  for  him  now." 

He  had  one  other  lucid  interval.  He  could 
not  tell  me  how  much  gold  was  in  the  grave, 
but  he  said  that  it  was  more  than  a  strong 
man  could  lift.  "I  came  by  it  as  honestly  as  a 
miser  could,"  said  he;  "sold  all  my  property 
just  before  the  war  and  would  have  taken  my 
gold  away,  but  I  neglected  to  move  it,  being 
afraid,  till  the  storm  broke,  and  then  I  had  to 
make  a  quick  shift.  Ah,  you  will  be  a  rich 
man,"  he  said,  looking  at  me  with  pride. 
"The  poor  bound  boy  won't  be  bound  any 
more,  and  the  wretches  will  grovel  to  him. 
Compared  with  me  they  were  nearly  all  pau 
pers.  And  many  a  time  in  the  shine  of  that 


THAT  GRAVE  HOLDS  MY  COLD 


CONCLUSION  377 

gold  I  have  sat  hungry,  because  I  was  afraid 
to  give  up  any  of  it  lest  it  all  might  begin  to 
take  wings." 

For  a  time  I  was  skeptical,  but  he  finally  con 
vinced  me,  and  upon  my  knees  I  dropped,  be 
side  his  bed,  and  holding  his  hand  thanked  him. 

"You  mustn't  do  that,"  he  said,  "for  you  are 
my  gold  as  long  as  I  live.  I  possess  you,  and 
you  possess  the  gold,  and  in  that  way  it  is  still 
mine,  and  I  see  it  before  me." 

He  took  my  fingers  and  played  with  them, 
counting  them  time  and  again  as  if  he  were 
telling  gold  pieces.  Shortly  after  this  his 
mind  failed,  and  never  again  gave  forth  a 
gleam  of  light.  He  died  while  a  March  tem 
pest  was  howling,  and  out  to  the  frozen  field 
they  took  him. 

Another  poor  wretch  came  in  to  bunk  with 
me,  and  in  his  cold  and  fitful  sleep  he  con 
stantly  muttered  of  a  cabin  on  the  edge  of  the 
timber  where  the  woodpeckers  looked  like  red 
apples  flying  through  the  air,  and  the  sun  was 
ever  warm  in  front  of  the  door  where  he  fan 
cied  that  he  was  sitting  on  a  bench.  I  thought 
that  the  smallpox  would  regard  it  as  a  huge 
joke  to  seize  upon  me  and  snatch  me  away 
from  the  gold  in  the  grave,  and  sometimes  in 
the  night  I  could  hear  the  disease,  typified  in 
the  form  of  a  gigantic  Malay  with  rough  skin 
and  curved  sword,  coming  across  the  square, 
and  yelling  in  his  delight;  but  it  was  only  the 


378  "  TURK  " 

wind  come  to  play  with  the  tatters  of  dying 
men.  Day  after  day  I  waited  to  be  stricken 
down,  but  the  epidemic  passed,  and  I  was  well 
and  enthusiastic  over  my  books. 

But  not  so  much,  let  me  confess,  as  I  was 
before  I  had  become  heir  to  the  treasures  of 
old  Slayton's  grave.  And  it  proved  to  me 
that  I  had  not  been  a  student  so  much  for  the 
sake  of  knowledge  as  for  the  spiteful  hope 
that  I  might  be  lifted  above  the  ignorant,  who 
sought  to  spread  over  me  their  humiliating 
patronage.  The  old  man  who  took  Slayton's 
place  was  carried  away  to  the  field  that  now 
was  thawing;  and  Barrett,  the  president  of 
my  university,  came  in  to  take  his  place.  It 
was  pleasant  to  lie  there,  listening  to  his  talk. 
Learning  is  garrulous  when  treated  with 
respect.  One  evening  we  knew  that  the  war 
was  done.  "And  I  think,"  said  Barrett,  "that 
we  shall  be  permitted  to  leave  within  a  day  or 
two.  Whither  are  you  going?" 

"From  here  to  Louisville,  and  then  across 
the  country  to  a  place  where  I  lived." 

"Where  you  were  a  poor  and  ignorant  boy, 
I  suppose.  Well,  the  war  has  ruined  many  a 
man,  morally  and  intellectually,  but  it  has 
been  of  great  benefit  to  you.  While  you  are 
not  a  scholar,  you  are  in  a  fair  way  to  become 
one  if  you  should  put  your  mind  to  it.  But  in 
the  meantime  what  are  you  going  to  do  for  a 
living?" 


CONCLUSION  379 

"Work  at  something,"  I  answered,  keeping 
close  the  secret  of  my  gold. 

"But  you  will  need  a  suit  of  clothes  and  a 
little  money  to  provide  for  expenses  home. 
In  Louisville  I  shall  be  pretty  well  supplied, 
and  I  shall  be  pleased  to  lend  you,  say,  two 
hundred  dollars." 

"I  thank  you,  and  I  shall  accept  your  offer, 
for  I  can  easily  pay  back  the  amount." 

"You  may  take  your  own  time  about  it." 

"No,  that  will  not  be  necessary.  I  know  of 
a  box  that  contains " 

"Oh,  you  have  been  a  miser,  eh?" 

"No,  I  haven't,  but  perhaps  some  one  else 
has,"  and  feeling  that  I  had  said  enough  and, 
indeed,  regretting  that  I  had  said  as  much,  I 
changed  the  subject  to  one  of  ancient  philoso 
phy;  for  I  knew  that  in  talking  Plato  he 
would  soon  forget  everything  else. 

How  like  a  hard  and  merciless  winter  did 
that  old  camp  break  up!  But  not  even  the 
most  thoughtful  of  us  halted  to  moralize 
upon  it.  The  air  outside  was  bleak  with  a 
spitting  of  April  snow,  but  it  was  free;  and  after 
two  years  of  degradation,  we  were  permitted 
to  roam  about  at  will.  Once,  while  walking 
half  dreamily,  I  leaped  back  as  I  came  to  a 
streak  of  tar  in  the  street,  thinking  of  the 
dead  line.  I  went  with  Barrett,  and  ah,  the 
banquet-like  meal  at  a  hotel!  Barrett's  crav 
ing  was  for  potatoes  with  brown  gravy;  while 


380  "TURK" 

eggs,  soft-boiled  and  broken  in  a  glass,  sent 
me  up  to  the  Elysium  of  gastronomic  bliss. 
But  we  were  ragged,  and  the  gamins  of  the 
streets,  knowing  that  we  were  liberated  rebel 
prisoners,  followed  us  about  with  gibes  and 
often  with  mud. 

On  the  first  night  after  our  freedom,  we 
took  train  for  Louisville;  and  a  negro  inso 
lently  accosted  us  at  the  steps  of  a  car  and 
asked  the  numbers  of  our  sleeper  berths,  and 
then  he  laughed  and  cried  out  that  he  guessed 
we  were  fortunate  to  be  permitted  to  live. 
Barrett  called  out  to  me  to  stop,  but  I 
snatched  a  green  flag  out  of  a  socket  and 
with  the  staff  cracked  the  negro  over  the 
head,  not  once  but  several  times,  and  I  saw 
his  black  wool  fly  in  the  air  and  rejoiced  that 
his  blood  flowed  upon  the  platform.  The 
conductor  came  running  up,  and  I  thought 
that  I  should  be  taken  off  to  prison,  but 
instinctively  he  knew  the  cause  of  my  assault, 
and  he  hustled  us  up  to  a  coach  near  the 
engine  and  told  us  to  keep  quiet.  Just 
before  the  train  started,  two  policemen  came 
aboard,  looking  about,  and  I  heard  the  con 
ductor  say,  "But  we  haven't  time  to  wait. 
Why  doesn't  the  darkey  come  and  identify 
him?" 

"He  is  too  badly  hurt,"  the  policeman 
replied. 

"But  we  haven't   time   to  wait."      And   he 


CONCLUSION  381 

rang  the  bell.  The  policemen  got  off,  and 
when  the  conductor  came  along  I  said  to  him, 
"It  might  come  my  way  to  help  you  one  of 
these  days." 

"Ticket.     I  never  saw  you  before,  sir." 

God  bless  him!  God  bless  the  man  whom 
God  inspires  to  lie  for  the  unfortunate! 

We  arrived  in  Louisville  about  ten  o'clock 
the  next  morning,  and  after  going  to  a  res 
taurant  where  there  were  more  potatoes  with 
brown  gravy  and  more  soft-boiled  eggs 
broken  in  a  glass,  we  got  into  a  hack  and 
were  driven  to  a  tobacco  warehouse  where 
an  old  gentleman  seized  Barrett  about  the 
neck  and  wept  over  him.  I  hung  back,  but 
the  old  gentleman  grasped  me  warmly  when 
Barrett,  his  son,  introduced  me;  and  it  was 
not  long  before  two  hundred  dollars  had  been 
placed  in  my  hand.  These  happy  men  urged 
me  to  go  home  with  them;  but  I  thanked 
them,  backing  off  during  the  time,  and  told 
them  that  I  must  hasten  across  the  country. 
And  now  a  fear  that  the  grave  might  contain 
nothing  but  the  bones  of  a  man,  came  and 
took  cold  possession  of  me;  and  on  the  train 
whenever  I  dozed,  I  was  sure  to  awake  with  a 
start  of  disappointment  and  of  horror. 

It  was  dark  when  I  got  off  at  a  station  near 
the  inn  wherein  I  had  slept  when  taking  Amy 
to  school,  and  here  I  hired  a  carryall  and  a 
horse,  and  providing  myself  with  a  lantern, 


382  "  TURK  " 

shovel,  pick,  hammer,  chisel,  and  a  broad 
piece  of  carpet,  set  out  for  Old  Blood.  The 
night  was  dark  and  cloudy,  and  for  this 
muffling  I  was  thankful.  The  country  had 
been  somewhat  changed  by  the  war;  fences 
were  moved,  and  trees  cut  down,  but  the  road 
was  not  to  be  mistaken,  and  not  once  did  I 
miss  the  way.  But  as  I  drew  near  to  the 
famous  old  school,  the  fear  that  with  Slayton 
it  had  all  been  a  delirium  seized  upon  me  and 
shook  me  like  a  chill,  like  the  shivers  that 
Nan  had  the  night  she  came  into  the  room  to 
see  her  father  thrust  me  out  and  to  find  her 
self  outraged  of  her  lips. 

Down  into  a  ravine,  across  a  stream  in 
which  I  had  often  waded,  up  a  steep  place, 
and  I  could  hear  the  murmuring  flow  of  the 
spring.  I  remembered  well  the  location  of  the 
grave,  to  the  left  of  the  house,  near  the  road; 
and  I  halted  and  lighted  my  lantern,  to  find 
that  it  was  only  a  few  feet  away.  I  got  down 
on  my  knees  and  read  the  name  and  the  date 
of  death,  and  it  all  was  so  truth-like  that  I 
shuddered  and  got  up  and  stood  there  trem 
bling.  An  owl  hooted,  and  I  jumped  and 
thought  of  the  parrot  that  had  called  me  a 
liar  in  Nick's  saloon.  I  recalled  Slayton's 
words,  one  at  a  time,  pondering  and  striving 
to  bring  back  the  expression  of  his  face;  and 
this  gave  me  courage.  The  earth  was 
gravelly  and  not  hard  to  shovel;  and  with  a 


CONCLUSION  383 

wild  energy  I  worked  until  the  box  was 
reached  beneath  a  layer  of  boards.  But  it 
looked  by  my  dim  light  so  much  like  a  burial 
case  that  I  leaped  out  of  the  grave  and  stood 
mopping  my  brow.  I  thought  that  I  heard 
some  one  coming,  and  I  put  out  the  lantern, 
and  long  was  it  before  I  could  light  it  again, 
for  the  oil  seemed  to  be  failing.  At  it  again  I 
went,  and  now  the  box  looked  smaller  than  a 
burial  case.  I  scraped  the  earth  from  the 
rusting  top,  but  could  not  get  the  lid  open,  so 
I  shoveled  a  space  at  the  side  to  give  me 
more  leeway.  There  was  a  staple  and  a  pad 
lock  of  brass;  I  attacked  the  staple  with  the 
hammer  and  chisel;  off  it  flew,  and  I  seized 
the  lid  and  lifted  it.  And  there  was  the  gold 
glowing  in  the  light;  and  I  threw  myself  upon 
it,  not  in  fear  as  poor  old  Slayton  had  so  often 
done,  but  in  a  victorious  delight. 

Now  came  the  work  of  getting  the  treasure 
into  the  wagon.  He  had  told  the  truth — the 
box  was  more  than  I  could  lift;  so  I  took  as 
much  of  the  gold  as  I  could  at  a  time  in  the 
broad  shovel,  and  poured  it  into  the  wagon. 
And  at  last  I  got  the  box  out  and  put  it  into 
the  wagon,  then  I  put  back  all  the  gold  into 
the  box  and  as  best  I  could  fastened  down 
the  lid  and  spread  the  carpet  over  it. 

Then  onward  I  slowly  drove,  wondering 
whither  to  go,  what  to  do  with  my  uncounted 
riches.  It  would  not  be  wise  to  drive  up  to  a 


384  "TURK" 

bank,  even  if  there  were  one  sound  enough  to 
trust.  Then  I  thought  of  old  Champ  and  his 
out-of-the-way  place.  Him  I  could  trust,  and 
to  him  I  would  go  to  bury  my  gold  under  his 
hearth  and  let  it  remain  there  until  I  could 
convey  it  safely  to  Louisville.  This  resolu 
tion  cheered  me,  and  I  touched  the  old  horse 
into  a  trot. 

It  was  yet  a  long  distance  to  Champ's,  but 
by  nine  o'clock  the  next  day  I  came  out  of  the 
woods,  within  sight  of  the  cabin.  From  the 
chimney  there  came  no  smoke;  the  old  man 
was  not  in  the  yard,  skinning  a  mink;  the 
place  looked  deserted.  I  got  out  at  the  gate 
and  started  toward  the  cabin,  but  a  low 
mound  beside  the  path  attracted  my  atten 
tion,  and  looking  closer  I  read  Champ's  name 
on  a  pine  head-board.  I  sat  down  on  a 
stump,  and  long  I  mused  there.  But  I  did 
not  alter  my  intention  of  burying  the  gold 
under  his  hearthstone,  and  I  did  so  as  quickly 
as  possible.  Then  brushing  off  the  soil  that 
still  was  clinging  to  me,  I  drove  toward  the 
professor's  house.  Ah,  how  different  every 
thing  looked,  in  a  spiritual  way!  Over  the 
fields  I  glanced  with  a  sort  of  pride,  knowing 
that  I  could  buy  them,  and  in  the  road  I  met 
an  old  man  who  had  always  been  called  rich. 
He  did  not  recognize  me,  but  I  nodded  to 
him  and  muttered,  "Poor  old  pauper!"  But 
further  along  there  was  a  material  change,  a 


CONCLUSION  385 

big  white  house  on  a  hill;  and  while  slowly  I 
was  driving  by,  a  man  standing  at  a  gate 
called  out  to  me,  and  I  recognized  Captain 
Kirkpatrick.  He  rushed  up,  seized  me  by  the 
hand,  and  urged  me  to  go  up  to  the  big  white 
house,  his  home. 

"No,  not  now,  I  thank  you.  I  am  anxious 
to——" 

"Yes,  I  understand.  You  will  find  her  just 
the  same." 

"But  a  little  more  contained,"  I  suggested. 

"Oh,  yes,  for  she  teaches  a  school  now,  not 
far  from  where  Hoover's  church  was  burned 
down.  And  by  the  way,  he  has  re-built  and  is 
holding  forth  every  Sunday.  And  I  am  going 
to  open  a  school  pretty  soon — am  going  to 
give  Nan  a  position,  and  if  you  so  desire,  you 
may  finish  your  education  with  me." 

I  thanked  him,  just  as  much  as  I  should 
have  done  years  ago,  and  then  added,  "But 
the  fact  is,  I  am  well  prepared  and  may  go 
through  Harvard." 

"You  don't  tell  me.  Let  me  congratulate 
you." 

We  shook  hands  again,  and  he  told  me  that 
I  not  only  looked  learned,  but  prosperous. 
Ah,  old  gold,  you  shine  through,  don't  you? 
They  call  you  a  thief,  and  can  prove  it;  they 
say  you  are  a  murderer,  and  you  are;  but 
they  know  that  you  are  a  glory,  and  they  wor 
ship  you. 


386  "  TURK  " 

After  a  few  more  words,  inquiries  concern 
ing  the  welfare  of  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  and  the 
boy,  I  was  about  to  drive  "on,  when  the  cap 
tain  said,  "I  suppose  you  stopped  back  yonder 
to  look  at  your  land." 

"Look  at  my  land!  I  didn't  know  I  owned 
any  land." 

'Didn't  you?  Is  it  possible  that  you  were 
unaware  of  the  fact  that  Champ  Jones  made 
you  his  heir?" 

"I  didn't  know  he  was  dead  until  just  now 
when  I  saw  his  grave." 

"Indeed!  He  died  about  eight  months  ago, 
and  just  before  that  event  made  his  will  in 
your  favor,  leaving  to  you  the  cabin  and  a  few 
acres  of  land,  all  he  possessed." 

On  my  own  premises  had  I  buried  my  gold! 

From  the  captain's  house  to  the  professor's 
was  but  a  short  drive,  nor  did  I  seek  to  make 
it  shorter  by  touching  up  the  horse.  My 
mind  was  full  of  the  past,  and  sweetly  was  I 
dreaming  of  the  hard  days  of  my  bondage. 
Over  there  was  the  field  wherein  I  was  plow 
ing  when  Nick  Bowles  first  came  into  view, 
and  farther  away,  marked  by  tall  trees,  was 
the  place  where  Mose  and  Tab  had  whipped 
me  almost  to  death. 

Neither  the  professor's  house  nor  the  imme 
diate  surroundings  had  undergone  any  marked 
alteration.  There  was  the  swing  hanging 
from  the  great  tree  in  the  yard,  the  carpenter 


'•HE  SEIZED  HOLD  OF  ME 


CONCLUSION  387 

shop,  the  althaea  bushes,  the  corner  whence  I 
had  rushed  forth  to  fire  the  derringers;  ah, 
and  there  was  the  soldier  himself,  walking  up 
and  down,  dressed  in  uniform,  but  with  no 
sword  to  cleave  the  air  above  my  head.  He 
halted  and  raised  his  eyes  as  my  wagon  rat 
tled  up  to  the  gate,  but  not  recognizing  me, 
turned  to  resume  his  walk.  Then  I  hailed 
him. 

"Eh?"  he  said,  "eh?"  coming  forward,  strain 
ing  his  eyes,  for  they  were  not  so  good  as  they 
had  been.  "Eh,  well,  well,  as  I  am  alive!"  I 
jumped  out,  and  he  seized  hold  of  me,  shook 
me,  and  called  loudly  over  his  shoulder, 
"Louise,  come  out  here.  I've  captured  the 
worst  rebel  in  all  the  land." 

Mrs.  Emory  came  running  out,  wiping  her 
eyes  even  before  she  got  to  me,  and  she  put 
her  arms  about  my  neck,  and  the  professor 
called  out,  "That's  right,  give  it  to  him,"  and 
then,  wiping  his  own  eyes,  he  said,  "I  am 
going  to  plant  tobacco  over  yonder.  But 
what  is  the  use  of  standing  here?" 

We  went  into  the  house  and  sat  down  by 
the  fire.  They  told  me  that  Nan  had  not 
come  from  her  school,  and  I  thought  of  offer 
ing  to  go  with  my  wagon  to  fetch  her,  but,  still 
afraid,  though  gold  had  made  me  strong,  I 
refrained.  We  ate  dinner  as  of  old,  discuss 
ing  everything  but  the  war;  and  afterward, 
biding  the  time  when  Nan  should  return,  I 


388  "  TURK  " 

walked  about  the  place.  There  on  the 
smokehouse  door  were  the  faded  marks,  the 
calls  for  my  circulating  library,  and  fondly 
and  yet  rather  sadly  I  made  another  mark. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  Nan  came  home. 
Her  mother  was  in  the  yard,  and  I  heard  her 
say,  "Oh,  you  can't  guess  who's  come,"  and 
the  witch  replied: 

"Yes,  I  can.     Nobody  but  Turk." 

She  shook  hands  with  me,  complimented 
me  on  my  appearance,  saying  that  she  hadn't 
supposed  that  clothes  could  help  me  so  much, 
and,  mischievously  looking  at  my  thin  boots, 
she  asked  me  if  I  had  exchanged  with  Adju 
tant  Bloodgood.  Ah,  and  how  riotously 
beautiful  she  was!  and  so  compelling  that  I 
thought  to  tell  her  of  my  gold — her  gold  if 
she  desired  it;  but  then  something,  a  common 
sense  which  I  had  never  before  possessed, 
whispered  to  me  to  wait,  to  find  out  how 
much  she  thought  of  me  for  myself  alone. 

It  was  a  happy  evening,  there  by  the  cheer 
ful  fire;  and  when  bedtime  came,  Mrs.  Emory 
said  that  I  was  to  be  shown  to  the  guest's 
chamber,  but  Nan  objected.  "No,"  she 
begged,  "let  him  sleep  in  his  old  place 
to-night."  I  decided  with  her,  and  Mrs. 
Emory  slowly  yielded. 

When  I  had  bade  them  all  good-night,  the 
professor  and  his  wife  going  a  little  time 
before  I  took  leave  of  Nan,  I  went  up  to  my 


CONCLUSION  389 

old  garret — and  there  on  my  box  was  a  book 
and  a  candle,  and  on  the  book  lay  a  piece  of 
paper  on  which  was  written,  "God  bless  you." 
I  turned  to  go  back  down  the  stairs,  but  I  had 
to  feel  my  way,  so  dim  was  everything,  and 
there  was  Nan,  sitting  by  the  dying  fire  with 
her  hands  over  her  face.  I  touched  her  hair, 
but  she  didn't  look  up,  but  shivered  and  said 
nothing.  "And  all  these  years  you  have  been 
putting  those  books  there,  and  I  thought  it 
was  Amy."  She  looked  up,  and  my  arms 
were  about  her,  and  her  lips  were  warm 
against  mine.  "And  all  my  life  I  have  loved 
you,"  she  said,  there  by  the  dying  fire. 


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A  A      000282228    6 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
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DATE  DUE 

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